


A Safe Good Place

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clerk Duo, Dark Past, Duo POV, Howard's Hobby Shop, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Alternating, POV First Person, RC airplanes, Trowa POV, Twenty-Somethings, Uncle Trowa, radio-controlled airplanes, things that go boom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: The moment when Trowa realized that the best thing in his life had finally crossed paths with the worst thing in his life, he was surprisingly relieved because, really, what it all came down to was the simple hope for a safe, good place.  It would take a risk, the biggest risk he'd ever imagined, but he'd do it.  He'd make it happen.  At this point, there was no turning back.





	1. "This is probably a bad time, but marry me?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts), [AllNatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllNatural/gifts).



> This all started from writing prompt 50 (of 54 Writing Prompts, which is circulating somewhere on Tumblr, originally posted by barakatxhood (I think)) and it seemed like a fun challenge to try and work a prompt into each subsequent chapter and use that same prompt as the chapter title.
> 
> Music recs:  
> “The (Shipped) Gold Standard” by Fall Out Boy  
> “Home and Dry” by Pet Shop Boys  
> “Stay” by Miley Cyrus  
> “California Dreamin’” by The Mamas and the Papas
> 
> NOTES: Chapter 1, Prompt 50 requested by Kangofu-CB (You kick-started this mess, dear.)  
> THANKS to AllNatural because yet another thing we fangirled became a Thing. (^_~)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: language
> 
> Trowa POV

I pulled up in front of the hobby store and carefully reached forward to shut off the ignition.  It was a shabby-looking shack that was deceptively small on the outside.  That didn’t bother me.  Deception was a considerable part of my business.

Moving slowly, I pulled myself out of the car and approached the door.  The parking lot was empty and it was a school day, but that didn’t necessarily mean that the clerk would be alone.

Taking a fortifying breath, I opened the door.  The bell chimed.  A familiar male voice called out from within the maze of cluttered and packed aisles.  Professionally-built model planes hung from the ceiling beside meticulously assembled helicopters and shuttles.  I glanced through the model cars and military tanks in the showcase.  Maybe I should pick another kit up for James.  My nephew was in love with the radio-controlled model plane that we’d built for his birthday.

Despite the circumstances of my visit today, I smiled, remembering the first time I’d set foot in Howard’s Hobby Shop…

> “Hey, there.  Can I help you find anything?”
> 
> I had turned, surprised to see a young man with a long braid of brown hair speaking not to me, but to my ten-year-old nephew, James.
> 
> I’d assumed Howard was an older man.
> 
> “I want to build an airplane,” James had answered, challenging the shop clerk to react.
> 
> React he had.  The clerk had grinned with genuine pleasure.  “That is awesome.  What kind?”
> 
> “I…”
> 
> “Here.  Check these out.”  The clerk had knelt down and reached up for two boxes, showing James the photos on the front of each.  I’d found myself mesmerized by the tail end of that braid as it had swung back and forth beneath the well-proportioned seat of the clerk’s blue jeans.
> 
> Jiggling the box in his left hand, the shop clerk had confided, “This one is my favorite.  You can put it together in about two hours, give or take.  Tomorrow’s supposed to be great weather for flying.  Clear.  Windless.  You should have yourself a plane for it.”
> 
> James had pointed to the recommended kit.  “This one.”
> 
> “You got it.  I’m Duo.  What’s your name?”
> 
> “James.”
> 
> “Nice to meet you, James.”
> 
> They’d shaken hands as I’d stood back, bemused at being ignored.  
> 
> Heading for the cash register, Duo had asked, “So, this your first RC plane?”
> 
> “No, of course not.”
> 
> “Of course not.  Heh.  Duh.  OK.  Have you built one before?”
> 
> “...no.”
> 
> “No worries, James.  It’s cool.  The instructions are decent, but here’s my card.  You and your dad can give me a call if you want a hand.”
> 
> Taking the card with a scowl, James had muttered, “Like that’s gonna happen.”  Looking up at the clerk, he’d inquired, “Can my Uncle Trowa call?”
> 
> “Uh, sure.”  Duo the Clerk had finally deigned to make eye contact with me, lifting an inquiring brow as if asking for permission.
> 
> I’d raised a hand.  “That would be me.”
> 
> “Good to know,” Duo had replied with a slow smile.  Turning back to James, he’d advised, “Put the engine together first and make sure that’s good to go.  Nothing worse than getting the body of the plane together only to find out you’ve got a mechanical problem and you’ve gotta take it all apart to fix it.”
> 
> James had nodded solemnly and I’d marveled at my own barely-suppressed inclination to laugh at the scene, delighted with Duo’s skillful handling of my prickly nephew.
> 
> Duo had included a pack of batteries for the radio controller, bagged everything up, and waved us out the door.
> 
> Four hours later, I’d called him.  “This plane is a nightmare.  If you stop by and give me a hand in earning back a little self-respect, we’ll order pizza.  My treat.”
> 
> So, Duo had come over.  He’d dived right for the coffee table and the plane parts in the middle of my spartan living room.
> 
> “Yo, James.  What part you got there?” he’d asked and I’d let him skillfully maneuver both James and myself into doing all the work.  No bossing around required.  A couple of small lectures meant to make us think like RC airplane model builders, boosting James’s confidence as well as my own, and the plane had gotten built.
> 
> Pizza had been ordered and eaten.
> 
> As he’d said goodnight, Duo had invited us to come out to the riverside park the following morning and meet other RC flyers.  We’d gone and James had had an amazing time.  One elderly gentleman in particular had taken it upon himself to show James some impressive flying tricks.  For that brief span of time as he’d sat on the weathered wooden bench beside his new flying buddy, my nephew might have even forgotten the fact that his mother and father had been out of the country for his birthday.  Again.
> 
> As for myself, I’d had an amazing time, too.
> 
> Especially when Duo had commented idly, “Y’know, I’m always up for a pizza.”
> 
> I’d smiled, a rarity that had started becoming less rare with every minute I’d spent with him.  “Me, too.”

Over the next six months, I’d learned that pizza was not, in fact, his favorite food.  He liked ramen, not the instant stuff, though.  There was a noodle place in town that he’d introduced me to and I’d had to admit it was pretty good.  He’d had fun showing me how to juggle the long, slippery noodles using a pair of chopsticks and a wide porcelain spoon.

Duo was very dexterous.

Which was precisely why I was here today.

He came around the corner with a polite smile that widened and stretched until he was beaming.  “Tro!  Babe, what’s up?”

“Is anyone else here?”

He smirked.  “Noooo, but—”

I flipped the sign over to “Closed” and flicked the deadbolt shut.  “Come with me into the workshop.”  I scooped up his arm in a gentle grip and angled him toward the back of the store.

“Hey.  What’s going on?”  He was looking at the thermal vest I was wearing.  It was a warm day and he knew I didn’t get cold easily.  Not anymore.  Not since I’d been a kid.  He knew everything about me with the exception of one very important detail.

Attempting to joke, Duo said, “This isn’t something kinky, is it?  Cuz that’d be just plain mean.  I have to work here, y’know.”

My lips twitched.  “I know.  It’s not.  We’ll need some wire cutters.”

“Wire cutters,” he repeated blankly, watching as I tucked us both into a corner that wasn’t visible from the front windows.

“Yes.  Wire cutters.”  I put my hands on his shoulders and pleaded earnestly, “Don’t panic.”

He nodded, frowning.  “Yeah.  OK.  Show me what you got.”

Taking a steadying breath, I unzipped the vest and carefully shrugged it off.

For a long moment, neither of us said a word.

Then he cleared his throat.  “Um… is that a…?”

“It’s a bomb, yes.”

He stared at the clock that was relentlessly counting down to zero.  I had nine minutes and some change left.

I said, “I’m sorry for this, but I can’t reach the wires myself.  I can tell you what to do.”

Duo closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath.  Let it out.  Drew a second.  “Right.  Wire cutters.”  He opened his eyes and grabbed for the nearest pair.  When he turned back to me, he was scowling fiercely.  I had never seen him look this displeased before.

“Displeased” was actually something of an understatement.

Shit.  I’d known I was taking a risk in coming here, but Duo was a genius with electrical things and I knew from very personal experience how steady his hands were.  Despite how expressive he was, the term “even keel” could have been coined just for him.  Nothing shook Duo’s equilibrium.  He hadn’t even batted an eyelash when I’d told him about my job behind the gun counter at DKS Sporting Goods.  On one of our dates, I’d even taken him to a shooting range.  He was an impressive shot.

But we’d never ventured anywhere near anything this dangerous.  I belatedly realized what I’d done: putting him in this position was inexcusable.  After we were done here, he and I would be _done._

Damn it.

His fingertips brushed my chin and he pulled my gaze to his.  “Don’t you dare apologize for asking me for help.”

I blinked at his growl.  Stunned.

“How the hell did this even happen?”

I couldn’t answer.

“What kind of person straps a fucking bomb to a guy’s chest?”

“Someone who knows how,” I managed to say.

Duo gestured for me to sit.  I did.  As he wheeled a second stool over for himself, I grabbed his left hand and I heard myself blurt, “This is probably a bad time, but marry me?”

He blinked.  He smirked.  He snorted.  “You are such an ass.”

I grinned.  He hadn’t said “no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand, this thing fic'ed into 10 chapters. Y'all only have yourselves to blame if you hate it. Just sayin'.


	2. “Don’t worry about it, I got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: reference to past child abuse and very bad parenting
> 
> Trowa POV

This was crazy.  Completely and totally crazy.  Here I was, sitting on a stool in the model-building and repair workshop of a hobby store with a bomb strapped to my torso, unable to stop smiling.

“Tone it down already,” Duo ordered through a lingering smirk, plucking up a pair of strong magnification eyeglasses from the cramped workstation and a dentist’s mirror tool.

“Sorry.  Not sorry.”

He rolled his eyes.

I glanced down at the digital clock display as he scooted closer to the device.

“Open wide, babe.”

I spread my knees and he braced his elbows on my thighs, crouching low to get a good look at the wiring connected to the timer.

How was he not even sweating?  I’d ask him later.  First things first.  “You should be able to see a bundle of wires,” I began, “threading into the casing—”

“Tro.  It’s OK,” he told me, low and quiet.  Like we were in my bed, comparing notes on the exact moment we’d both realized where we were headed, where we could be headed, what we could be.  I’d never forget it…

> Following that morning at the riverside park, I’d only managed to wait three agonizingly empty days before calling him.  I’d opened the conversation by accusing him of ruining my Cool Uncle status.
> 
> “How am I supposed to impress a nephew who knows more about remote-controlled airplanes than I do?”
> 
> Duo had chuckled.  “Radio-controlled,” he’d corrected my slip.  “Do yourself a favor and stick to ‘RC’ and it’s not hard to learn.”
> 
> “Teach me.  I’ll feed you.”
> 
> He’d agreed.  We’d met at a diner that my sister and I had frequented many years ago.  Only later had I realized why I’d chosen it: a ridiculous attempt to turn back time, to erase what I had become and imagine that I was the kind of man who deserved someone like Duo.
> 
> But at the time, I’d been too distracted for introspection.
> 
> Duo and I had talked about everything except RC airplanes.  We’d split the check on the understanding that Duo hadn’t earned his instructor’s fee yet.  In the parking lot, it had been pathetically obvious that we were both hesitating to part ways.  We shuffled and fidgeted as we both waited for somebody to do something.
> 
> Duo’d screwed up his courage first and said, “Y’know… you’re not looking at me the way an uninterested straight guy would.”
> 
> “Uninterested straight guy,” I’d repeated slowly.  “That’s one out of three.”
> 
> The curl of his lips would be branded into my memory for as long as I lived.  “Huh.  You seeing anyone?”
> 
> “You, I hope.”
> 
> His dazed smile had faded.  “I don’t do casual, Trowa.”
> 
> I had only ever done casual.  What else could I possibly have, given the secrets I kept tucked away in silence?  Running through the center of my very existence was a thin, razor-sharp line that was not to be crossed… but I’d take it on for a chance with him.  I’d walk it from end to end with bleeding feet.  “It won’t be casual.  And I’m not seeing anyone except you.”
> 
> He’d leaned back against his car, a gloriously restored 1971 GTO, and given me a shy grin.  “Yeah?  OK.  Let’s see what you got.”
> 
> Before I could have closed the distance between us and kissed him senseless, he’d turned and swung into the driver’s seat, settling behind the wheel.  When he’d rolled the window down, I had daringly folded my arms on the ledge, tilting my face so he could see both my eyes.
> 
> He’d looked at me.
> 
> I’d looked at him.
> 
> I’d offered, “I’ll call you tomorrow evening?  I’ll be on break just before eight.”
> 
> “Sounds good.”  Duo’d smiled, slow and sexy.  “Talk soon.”

That tone.  That was the tone and pitch and softness of voice that Duo used now as he said, “Don’t worry about it, I got it.”

I frowned, confused and deeply concerned that he wasn’t taking this seriously.  “Watching cop shows on TV doesn’t count.  This is—”

“I know exactly what this is,” he smoothly interjected.  “I was just really hoping my gut reaction was wrong.”

It wasn’t my imagination; he wasn’t the least bit frightened.  Hell, he wasn’t even uncomfortable.  I held still as he swiftly disassembled the casing to reveal a snarl of wiring that intimidated me.  And, unlike RC airplanes, I did actually know a thing or two about bombs.  Built them, even.  When the occasion called for it.

Nothing anywhere near this complicated, though.

Duo didn’t even blink.  In fact, he sighed, sounding slightly bored or annoyed.  Clamping down on one seemingly random wire, he sat up and peered at it from several angles before handing me the mirror tool to hold.  He reached back for another pair of wire cutters, pinched off a second wire from the tangle, and said, “I bet you’ve got questions.”

“If you don’t kill us both before the timer hits zero.”

His smirk was back.  “I won’t.”

His hands flexed in concert.  A single double- _snip!_ snapped in the silence of the shop.

I let out the breath I’d been holding.  Glanced down.  The clock had stopped.

“Don’t move yet,” Duo continued, still speaking in that mysteriously calm voice.  He set aside one set of cutters and ran his fingers along the inner edge of the bomb harness.  “Good thing I know where all your ticklish spots are, eh?”

All three of them.

I said, “Thank God.”

He giggled.  “Ah-hah!  Got it.  Exhale, babe.”

I did.

_Snip!_

He slid the cutters away from the severed trip-wire that he’d found in the left armhole.  “Okie dokie.  You’re done.”

The cutters clattered onto the workstation.  The dental mirror was slipped from my nerveless fingers.  Duo pushed the eyeglasses up into his hair, making his bangs stand on end, and wiggled his fingers at me.  “C’mon.  Strip.  I’ll deal with the explosives.”

“I’d rather keep them.  If you don’t mind.”

“Evidence?”

“Souvenir.”

He snorted.  “Suit yourself.”

I didn’t stop him from efficiently disassembling the device and harness before tugging it off of my shoulders.  He grabbed for a nearby plastic shop bag and wrapped the components up.  Held it out to me.

I took it, brushing my thumb over his knuckles.

We sat there facing each other for a long, silent moment.  I could hear the movements of the analog wristwatch that he always wore stacked with the high-tech digital one on his left arm.

“Duo,” I began.  “How did you—?”

“You first,” he insisted and I figured I owed him that.  I’d been the one to be targeted, after all.  In coming here, I might have just put him in the sights of dangerous people.

“The last thing I remember is pulling up in front of my building.”

Duo nodded.  “No surveillance there, yeah?”

Yes.  I preferred it that way.  I nodded.

“Maybe you were followed.  Where were you before that?”

“At work.”

“DKS have surveillance?”

I hesitated.

He waited.

“I was at my other job.”  Which I had never told him about.

He didn’t look surprised, though.  Clearly, he’d doubted that every phone call that had interrupted our time together had been my supervisor at DKS calling.  I’d said it was work, which it had been.  He hadn’t asked for specifics and, therefore, I had never been forced to lie to him.

I was very tempted to lie about it right now, but how could I?  Store clerks, the ones who worked behind gun counters included, generally did not get knocked out in their vehicles only to wake up with a bomb strapped to their chest beneath a brand new thermal vest.

I cleared my throat.  “There’s a parking garage in the basement of the building.  Surveillance is controlled by my employer’s private security staff.”

“So you’re thinking it’s possible that either your boss set you up, or he might be in a position to help identify who did this.  Assuming they followed you from there.”

I nodded.

He waited some more.

I drew a deep breath.

It was time for the truth.  All of it.  Long past time.

I couldn’t meet his gaze as I searched for words.  How to explain.  Where to begin.  “My sister and I ran away from home when we were kids.  We were homeless for almost a year until a prominent family took us in.”  This much, I’d already told him.  I looked Duo in the eye and gave him the rest of it: “I work for them now on a contract basis as a—”

“Don’t.”  He shook his head.  “I don’t think you should tell me.”

My lips twisted into a wry grin.  “What’s a marriage without trust?”

He startled, barking out a sound that could have been a laugh if it hadn’t been as flat as a manhole cover.  “Good one.”

“I hope it will be.”

He stopped, looked me in the eye, and the sarcastic tension bled out of his features.  “You’re serious.”

“Don’t turn me down yet.”

“I… holy shit.  I won’t but…”  A moment of alarmingly poignant resignation pulled at his features and then it shifted suddenly into pure determination.  I’d seen this look once before.  When I’d told him about my childhood.  My parents.  He’d asked about my scars; I had told him as much as he’d been willing to hear.  Everything, as it had turned out.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine.  I shivered and he spoke, “C’mon.”

Duo stood and grabbed for the thermal vest I’d entered the store wearing, the one that had concealed the bomb.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

I paused.  I considered him carefully, what I knew about him and what I could see in his eyes.  His secrets.  I knew he had them.  He’d known I had mine.  I’d never thought we’d be sharing them in the light of day like this.

Duo held out his hand.

This was the moment.  I could reach for him now or I could walk away.  Regardless, this moment would never come again.

It would be safer for him if I walked away.

It would be safer for me.

I wasn’t capable of playing it safe anymore.

Sliding my fingers across his palm and into his grip, I summoned the three words that I’d once said to my older sister as she’d opened my bedroom window and asked me to trust her, to leave behind the sour stench of empty liquor bottles and the promise of more bruises and burns.  The bite of glass shards in our bare feet and cigarette ashes in our food.  “My little Trowa.  Come with me.  There’s a better place out there for us.  People who won’t hurt us anymore.  Do you trust me?”

I had.

Mistakenly or not, I still wasn’t sure.

And that was why these three words terrified me more than any others combined.  I said them anyway: “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of Duo's love for vintage muscle cars, if you haven't given Talliya's DELICIOUS 2x3 Fix-It Verse a try, do so!! (^_^)  
> Here is the series link: http://archiveofourown.org/series/729111  
> The Awesome Car I'm referring to is featured in "Entertainment Center."


	3. “All I want is you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: language, reference to bad things happening to kids, reference to life on the streets, reference to m/m sexytimes
> 
> This chapter follows the same pattern as the previous two: there's a flashback (indented in a blockquote) describing Duo and Trowa's second date in here before the Serious Secrets make an appearance
> 
> Trowa POV

Duo took one step, stopped, turned, and wrapped his arms around me.

Oh, God.  How was I lucky enough to have this?

I wrapped one arm around his waist, the shopping bag bumping against his thigh, and cupped the back of his head with the other hand.  I breathed him in and held on.  Strained for a future in which he wouldn’t ask me to let him go.

He pulled away first, his hands warm on my sides.  “Phones,” he said.  I reached for mine.  He tucked the vest under his arm and reached for his.  We popped the batteries out so that no one would be able to track our movements.  Duo dropped his phone into a second shopping bag.  I put mine in with the dismantled bomb.  He recaptured my hand and we left out the back.

Howard had an old truck that looked like it had fused with a jumble of abandoned building supplies: scraps of sheet metal, pipes, warped plywood, cinder blocks, and a rusted out truck with a cracked windshield in the middle of it all.  It was a pile of junk, basically.  Duo tossed the thermal vest on top of an oil drum and then shifted things around to reveal well-inflated tires.  When he opened the driver’s side door, the hinges didn’t even squeal.  He started the engine and looked my way.  I got in the truck.

Duo deliberately stayed off of the main streets, winding our way through the outskirts and suburbs.  As he drove, I considered everything I’d learned about him today.  Including this truck, a cleverly hidden and well-planned escape route that he’d prepared.

When he turned off of the rural highway out of town and onto a service road, I knew without a doubt where we were going.  It gave me hope, this destination.  Though, the first time we’d come this way, I’d been nervous as hell…

> “You said Howard owns this place?” I’d checked, scanning the woods on the passenger side of the GTO.  How many bodies could a person hide out here?  A lot more than just mine, that much was certain.
> 
> “Oh, yeah,” Duo had assured me, driving one-handed with his arm propped up on the ledge of the open window.  In the very spot I’d leaned on last week after our date at the diner.  “It’s incredible.”  Glancing my way, he’d grinned, “You trust me, right?”
> 
> “I want to.”
> 
> “Hah.  Honesty is sexy.”
> 
> “You’re amazing with James.”
> 
> His brows had shot up.  “What?  Nah.”
> 
> “You are.  I’ve never seen him respect anyone like he does you.”
> 
> Earlier that day, we had spent another morning at the park before I’d taken James home and Duo had picked me up for our second date.  The older man who had taught James some interesting flying maneuvers the week before hadn’t been there, but James had brushed it off; he expected adults to disappoint him.  He hadn’t expected Duo to take up the baton and mime him through adroit use of the controller in order to do a Flaming Death Spiral complete with a Miraculous Pull-Up.
> 
> In an echo of the week before when Duo had coached me and James through RC airplane building, Duo hadn’t bossily grabbed the controller to demonstrate.  He hadn’t needed to.  Little by little, he’d eased James through increasingly daring maneuvers until my nephew could do it all on his own.  From start to finish.  A perfect downward spiral and dramatic recovery that had had the underside of the plane skimming the tops of the river reeds.
> 
> “I just treat him like an adult, Tro.  He’s gonna be one someday, so it’s in there somewhere.  He’s a smart dude.  He doesn’t need to be told what to do.  I’m pretty sure he can figure shit out if he’s got all the relevant information.”
> 
> A pang of guilt had stabbed me, deep and sharp.  I hadn’t told Duo all the relevant information.  Not even close.
> 
> “Hey, you’re not allergic to any foods, right?”
> 
> “No.  I’ll eat anything.”
> 
> “Famous last words!”
> 
> I’d laughed.  And then, upon pulling up outside of a small, log house, I’d gaped.  The forest had been cleared from the top of the rise, its slopes dotted with flowers, mostly dandelions at this time of year.  To the west was a large pond with a wooden dock.  I could imagine the view a few hours from now, when the sun would be silently kissing the horizon.
> 
> Duo had kissed me just as silently right there on the dock.  After making a simple but filling dinner for us in the humble kitchen, he’d taken my hand, led me down to the water, tossed bread crumbs to the carp, and then he’d urged me closer and kissed me.  Our first kiss.  It had felt like _my_ first kiss.  My skin vibrating with nerves and my blood zipping through my veins.  Heat blushing through my entire body as our lips had come together.  Our breaths had merged.  I’d sucked gently on his lower lip, petted his tongue with mine, tasted him over and over, my hands massaging his waist, inviting him closer until he’d closed the distance between our bodies and — oh, God — I’d never felt a burn like that.  So sweet and slow and aching all down the front of me in a cascade of inescapable warmth.

The truck eased to a stop, tumbling me out of the memory.  Duo’s hand found mine across the bench seat and I looked up at his soft smile.  “Bet I know what you’re thinking.”

“I bet you’d be right.”

He squeezed my fingers and reached for the buckle on his seat belt.  We shut the doors quietly behind us.  Walked out to the dock.  When Duo sat down on the boards, I mimicked him.  The carp had sensed the vibrations from our footsteps and were coming to investigate.

“Sorry, fish bros.  No snacks today.”

The fish mouthed at the water, begging.

“So,” Duo said and, although he wasn’t looking at me, I knew I had his complete attention.  “You should pat me down.  For a wire or some other recording device.”

“What?”

Bracing his hands behind him on the dock and locking his elbows, he leaned his chin against his own shoulder and gave me a very serious look.  “It’s up to you, but after you hear what I’ve got to say, you’ll wish you had.”

“OK.  Sit up a little.”

He did, getting on his knees and lifting his arms to interlace his fingers behind his head.  I patted him down thoroughly and professionally.  Asked him to lower his arms so I could check his braid for concealed items.  “All clear,” I told him and then moved to allow him the same liberty with me.

“Clear,” he summed up and we both sat back down on the dock.

“I know bombs,” he began abruptly.  “Until eight months ago, I was the unofficial expert on them.  All I can tell you about my employer is that it’s sanctioned by the government.  I was on-call twenty-four seven.  Video chats with bomb squads on U.S. soil and in U.S. territories and outside of them, even, streaming live as they diffused explosives.”

No wonder he was so good at explaining technical things.  RC airplane maneuvers were literally child’s play compared to bomb disarmament.

He continued, “I did a lot of writing up reports on new wiring and arming techniques.  Giving lectures to bomb squad recruits and doing training workshops.  But, mostly, I was in my lab.  Working up new ways to make things blow up.  I would put together a design and send it off to the testing station.  That’s where they’d put my device on some compound or other and see what kind of fireworks they’d get.”

He cleared his throat.  “I was given an assignment to create a bomb that was incapable of being disarmed.”

I stiffened.

Duo gave me a wan smile.  “I’m not an idiot.”

“I know.”  That was why his words had alarmed me.

“It was for a sting operation.  I didn’t get all the details.  Need-to-know, yeah?  But I built in a fail-safe so that no one would be able to set off the explosives without my authorization codes.”

He stopped.  Breathed.  Bit his lip.  “It was hacked.”  He swallowed hard enough for me to hear the muscles and mucus move.  “Right in the middle of the op.  The whole area just lit up.”

I reached for his shoulder and pulled him against my side.  He curled an arm around my waist.  I felt his sob, though I didn’t hear it.

“Some of those kids will never walk again.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining James like that.  Oh, God.

Duo drew a deep breath.  “I walked away after that.  Came back to see Howard, the guy who talked me through how to build my first RC airplane.  Fresh start, y’know?”

I thought of the diner I’d met Duo at on our first date.  The place where Cathy and I had often eaten.  Out of the dumpsters.  Before the Khushrenadas had taken us in.

Yes, I did know about fresh starts.  The need for them.

His fingers brushed and doodled against my hip, painting heat on my skin even through my jeans.  He gritted out, “I thought I’d made it clear that I’d quit.”

“But?”

“Administrative leave, apparently.”  He snorted with derision.  “An agent stopped by to let me know that I’ve been put back on active duty.  When I told him to go fuck himself, he had the nerve to dig up some dirt and blackmail me.”

I was curious, but I didn’t ask.  I said, “Doesn’t matter.  Whatever it is.  You don’t have to tell me.”

“Yeah, I do.”  Duo leaned away and met my gaze squarely.  “It was you.  He found about you.  Deep background.”

Surprisingly, I didn’t stiffen.  I was actually relieved.  “When?”

“Four days ago.”

Four days ago, Duo had seemed upset at dinner.  A little off.  A bad day, he’d said.  I’d asked how I could make it better.  He’d playfully dared me to surprise him.  I’d washed his hair for him.  Dried it.  Braided it.  Groaned into the weave as he’d moved deeply inside me.  Made love to me.

He’d known, and yet he’d been as passionate and gentle and intense as always.

He whispered, “Do you wanna tell me what your other job is and who you work for, or should I tell you?”

“I work for Treize Khushrenada.  I kill for him.”

“Because his family took you and Cathy in?”

I stared at my right boot.  “It started out with small favors.  Courier jobs, surveillance, and the like.  I didn’t mind.  It was a way of repaying their generosity.  But as I got older, I started realizing how much my sister and I had to lose.  So did Treize.  The favors changed.  I never said ‘no’.”  I hadn’t dared.

Duo’s arms wrapped around me.  I leaned into him.

“You knew all this,” I accused, my voice thin, “when I came by earlier and asked for help.”

“Yeah.  Apparently, you left some fingerprints behind at the scene of a mob hit about eight years ago.  That’s how the agent found out about your connection to Khushrenada, and I figure that’s why you didn’t call the police when you woke up with a bomb strapped to your chest: you had no way of knowing if the cops had any forensic evidence on you.  Calling 911 would have been a helluva risk.  And, if they did connect you to any mob hits… well, there’s your sister to think about.  Am I right?”

He was.

Duo continued, “Given what I used to do…  Yeah, that’s why the asshole agent who set all this up knew you’d come to me.”

“No.  That’s not why I…  Duo, you know that I—”

“I know you’d had no idea about what I used to do — what I can do — until you showed up this afternoon and I decided not to pretend like I didn’t know what I was doing.  And I know that if Khushrenada learns about me, it won’t come from you.  I know.”

I exhaled.  “You know the agent who did this?  You worked together before?”

When I looked at him, he didn’t back down.  “Oh, yeah.  I know him.  And he knows me.”

I did not like the sound of that.

“By the way,” Duo warned me, “you’re gonna wanna toss the detonator pins.  They’re useless.”

So… wait.  “The bomb wouldn’t have gone off?”

“Nope.  It was a dud.”

I stared at him until he explained further.

“I knew who had put it on you as soon as I opened up the casing, and I knew he’d never endanger innocent people, but there was the chance that he’d fucked up and it was live after all.  I was completely sure when I broke down the components.  The pins were shit.  Thank God.”

Well, it was nice to know that I hadn’t been scheduled to die today after all.  And what’s more—  “How did you know who’d targeted me?”

“The device used—it’s my design.  An early one.  A preset countdown activates as soon as the device is moved.  Two power cords to cut.  One trip-wire on the harness itself.  Yeah.  He was clearly hoping I’d remember what it’s like to save a life.  So that I’d come back to work.  Leave you.”

I could understand that.  I’d do anything and everything in my power to keep Duo with me.  But, from a law enforcement point of view…

“Why?  If they know you’re with me, wouldn’t they try to use that to get you inside Khushrenada’s organization?”  I could easily name a dozen agencies that would shit themselves for an opportunity like this.  “Pulling you out like this makes no sense.”

“It does when you consider the fact that the agent they sent is my older brother.”

Oh.   _Oh._   Oh, thank God.  But… oh, God.  “He thinks I’m trying to turn you, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah.  Big time.”

I shook my head, disgust twisting my belly.  I swallowed against a wave of nausea.  “Never.  I would die first.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, I’d have a pretty big problem with that, babe.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t upset him, so I said nothing.  Rested my head against his.

He sighed out a cleansing breath.  “So.  That’s me.  Duo Maxwell.  You still wanna marry me?”

“More than ever.”

He shivered.  “I’m gonna have to deal with this.”

I met his sidelong look.  “You do what you need to do.”  I lifted my hand to tuck a loosened lock of hair behind his ear.  “All I want is you.”

 


	4. “Well, this is awkward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa POV
> 
> Just to clarify in this AU: Mariemaia and Dorian are both older than Cathy and Trowa. (^_^)

Dealing with the situation was easier said than done.  We both knew it.  But we planned as best we could.  Once the details were set, we shared a look; I was trusting him not to let down his guard just like he was trusting me to be careful.

As I helped Duo to his feet, he checked, “What about Cathy and James?”

He knew me so well; knew that I’d be miserable if I left my sister and nephew in Khushrenada’s web with no escape in sight.  I’d tried to keep them out of our arrangements; there was enough for Duo to worry about without adding the welfare of two more people to the mix.  But of course he wouldn’t let us go back to the city without a plan for them, too.  Of course.

I said, “I have a thought.  It’ll work.  I’ll look after them.”

He squinted at me.  “Is this a sudden thought?”

“No,” I admitted, stopping long enough to brush the pad of my thumb over his lower lip.  One of his hands dived into the back pocket of my jeans.  “Just sudden motivation.  I can’t let this happen to James.  What I’ve become.  What his father has become…”  I repeated, “I can’t let that happen to James.”

“You’re a hell of an uncle, y’know that?”

“And?” I prompted.

He grinned.  “You’re a pretty good fiancé, too.”

I kissed him and tried not to wonder if we’d ever come back here to this pond, to this dock.  I tried not to wonder how long it would be before I could hold him like this or even see his smile.  Listen to the sound of his voice.

“Say my name,” I begged.  “Say it like…”   _…you love me._  “Please.”

“Trowa.”

I pressed my forehead against his.  “Duo.”

“I’m gonna miss the hell outta you.”

I summoned a smile because I knew he’d be able to hear it: “I can live with a little less hell.”

We drove back to town with a quick stop at a self-storage facility to deposit my souvenirs and then swung by two separate electronics stores before heading back to the shop.

Something deep inside me cracked-snapped-broke when his fingers slipped from my grasp and we both got out of the truck.  I closed the door silently.  He grabbed the thermal vest still piled on top of the oil drum and held it out to me.  Our fingers brushed as I took it.

And then I walked away, my heart shattering with each step that carried me around the outside of the building.  I damned Duo’s brother, a man I didn’t know and — to my knowledge — had never even seen, for forcing this damnable situation on us.

But really, how much longer could Duo and I have continued on like this without Khushrenada learning about him?  My insides froze with terror at the thought.

In the parking lot of the closed hobby shop, I could tell immediately that someone had been in my car.  Perhaps the same someone had also gone inside Howard’s to have a look around.  Duo’s brother, no doubt.

It didn’t matter; he wouldn’t have found anything.  I reassembled my phone and checked my messages.  Cathy had called.  So had one other person.  Someone I couldn’t ignore.

Thank God I’d only kept him waiting twenty minutes.

I called back and was informed by Treize’s secretary that my presence was requested.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”  It would mean driving fast, but I did not want to give my employer a reason to think I hadn’t been spending my day off at home.

Day off.  I never truly had one of those.  I had days where I wasn’t scheduled to work at DKS and I had days where Treize Khushrenada didn’t ask to see me, but I _never_ had a day free of responsibilities.  I was well aware that I was not a free man, no matter what my plans for the day were.

Being with Duo had helped me forget that, but now my obligations were even more impossible to ignore.

It was still before rush hour, so I made good time.  For the second time today, I parked in the basement of the high-rise and took the private elevator up to the penthouse.

I lifted my arms, revealing my empty hands before the doors slid open.  “Treize called,” I told the pair of guards.  One nodded for me to step out of the elevator.  The other patted me down.  Once the first had checked in with Khushrenada’s secretary and received the go-ahead, I was allowed out of the reinforced foyer and into the lobby.

The chairs were low and stylish, intended to impress visitors with their excellent quality and impeccable design, but their true aim was to make those same visitors feel small and awkward.  I chose to stand as I waited.  As usual.

Ten minutes later, the office door opened and Dorian Khushrenada stormed out.

His older sister, Mariemaia, gracefully clicked after him in her high heels.  “Be reasonable, Dorie.  You were his age when you started—”

He stopped and rounded on his sister.  “No.  I said ‘no’ and I meant it.  He’s ten years old.  I won’t have him here in the office.”

“He’ll be able to spend more time with you.  What’s the downside?”

Dorian stared at Mariemaia, who arched a brow expectantly.  “I’m his father and my answer is ‘no.’  If Filbert needs someone to run memos or shred documents, he can bring one of his own kids in to work.”

Filbert, the secretary, continued typing at his computer, pretending no one else was even in the room.

My brother-in-law spun away and headed for the exit.  “Trowa,” he said as he passed.

“Dorian,” I replied.

The door slammed shut behind him.  Mariemaia gave me a slow smile.  “Well, this is awkward.”

“I beg your pardon, is what awkward?”

She laughed, propping a hand on her hip without wrinkling her tailored skirt.  Her blouse was made of pale silk thin enough to see the lace of her brassiere through.  “That’s what I love about you, Trowa.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d said something similar.  It wasn’t the first time my skin had itched and crawled in response.  I stared back as if indifferent to her lingering look.  If her father would have allowed it, I suspected I would have been assigned to Mariemaia’s personal and private guard detail years ago regardless of the fact that his daughter was very married to a very important business associate of Khushrenada Enterprises.  But Treize had already been fooled once by one of his children.  He was especially wary of it happening again…

 

> “Cathy?” I’d called, pushing open the bathroom door and finding my sister crouched on the floor, still in her bathrobe, expelling the contents of this morning’s cold cereal into the toilet.
> 
> I’d grabbed for a clean hand towel and fumbled with her hair, trying to hold it out of the line of fire.
> 
> She’d retched again and I’d winced.  Such an ugly sound for the pristine beauty of the apartment we’d been given.  Hell, the whole new life we’d been given.  I’d still been in shock at our good fortune.  The handsome, young prince had only ever rescued the damsel in distress in the animated movies I’d been lucky enough to see at a friend’s house.  On the rare occasions I’d been allowed to escape the apartment.
> 
> “Cathy, what’s wrong?”
> 
> She’d laughed wearily.  “Good heavens, Trowa.  You’re old enough to figure it out.”
> 
> The hand that had been rubbing her back had stilled.  “You’re pregnant?”
> 
> “Bingo.”
> 
> I’d asked myself how.  I’d realized who.  I’d thought up the perfect way to separate him from his  testicles.  I’d marveled that I was going to be an uncle.  I’d decided where to hide Dorian’s body.  I’d said, “Oh.”
> 
> “And you are __not__  going to do or say anything about it.”
> 
> “Why not?”
> 
> “Because we… we got married.  After I told him, we went to city hall and signed the paper and it’s done, Trowa.”
> 
> Good God.  I’d managed to acquire a niece or nephew _and_ a brother-in-law all in one day.  In one moment over a mush-filled toilet bowl.  Numbly, I’d reached out to tweak the flush lever and handed my sister the hand towel.
> 
> “How come you don’t want anyone to know?” I’d blurted instead of promising to neuter the way-too-charming Prince Charming.
> 
> She’d sighed.  “Because his dad wants him to marry someone else.”
> 
> I hadn’t bothered to suggest that she and Dorian tell the man that they were in love.  Whatever “in love” was.  I’d never had a good handle on the concept.  I’d known love from Cathy.  Sacrifice and perseverance, too.  But that stuff in fluffy kids’ movies?  Not a clue.
> 
> When Cathy had finished washing up in the sink, she’d given me a smile.  “It’s OK, Trowa.  I’m feeling better now.  You can have the bathroom to get ready.”
> 
> “Get ready?”
> 
> “Sure.  You have gymnastics at ten, remember?”
> 
> “Like I can go to that now!  Cathy, you’re…”  I’d shaken my head in complete bemusement.  “This is…”
> 
> “This is a good thing,” she’d insisted.  “This baby is going to be a great thing for me, for Dorian, and for you.  Trust me, Trowa.  We’re going to be a family.”

A family.  It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

So many things had.

Mariemaia gestured me into the office and in I went.  I kept my eyes open and my thoughts calm.  Every once in a while, Treize would give the order for one of his bodyguards to test my alertness.  It hadn’t happened since I’d sent the last one home to wait for a house call from Treize’s private physician.  I’d heard recently that the guy almost had complete use of his right arm back.  The hand and fingers were another matter.

Which, fortunately, was not my problem.

My problem was whatever Treize Khushrenada’s problem was.

I did not like being here only hours after the incident with the bomb.  I did not believe in coincidences and this felt like a trap.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

Treize spun himself away from the floor-to-ceiling windows, leaned back in his chair, and regarded me over his steepled fingers.  Duo and I had watched an old movie where the villain had performed this very move.  I would have laughed if the thought of Duo — and my concern for him — hadn’t sobered me.

“Zayeed Winner.”

I recognized the name.  It would only take me a few days to learn everything else I would need to know about the man.  When Treize didn’t request that I provide him with a mere warning, I inquired, “When?”

“Before the end of the business quarter.”

“How?”

He waved a hand dismissively.  “At your discretion.  The usual budget is at your disposal.”

“I understand.  May I be of further assistance?”

“No.  Thank you, Trowa.”

“My pleasure.”

Treize smiled.  “Indeed it is.”

I forced myself to breathe regularly as I left the office, passed through the lobby, and rode the elevator down to the basement parking garage.  Approaching my car, I checked the clear fishing line that I’d restrung with an undetectable effort between the steering wheel and the driver’s side door as I’d exited the car.  It was still taut.  A quick glance confirmed that the second line I’d stretched from the gear shift to the passenger door was as I’d left it.  So was the line that ran from one rear door to the other.

No one had been in my car here.

That didn’t mean it hadn’t been tampered with on the outside.  I pulled my keys out of my pocket, dropping a wadded-up store receipt.  When I leaned down to scoop it up, I scanned the front, driver’s side wheel well and the undercarriage.

Both were clear.

There was so much more of the car that I couldn’t check, not here in view of the camera lenses.  If I got down on all fours — if I even opened up the trunk without a legitimate reason — it would pique curiosity.  Treize’s people would wonder why I was so clearly suspicious of my own employer when I ought to have no reason to be.

I slid behind the wheel.  

Turned the ignition.  

Pulled out onto the street.  

I almost jumped when my phone buzzed in my pocket.  I dug it out.

Cathy.  Again.

I remembered to breathe.  I thought of Duo.

I could do this.  For him.  For James.  For Cathy.  For myself.  I could do this.


	5. “Oh, you scared me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: reference to male/male sexy times, reference to character death (not main characters)
> 
> Trowa POV

I put off returning Cathy’s call until I’d gotten home and locked the door behind me.

“Trowa!  Why don’t you come over for dinner?  We’re making lasagna and—”

“No.  Thanks anyway.”  Using a shoulder, I wedged the phone against my ear so that I could hang up the thermal vest, my unlikely souvenir from the most life-altering day of my life.  “Was that all you were calling about?”

“Yes, are you all ri… oh.  Trowa.  I’m so sorry.”

Ah, she’d finally thought to pay careful attention to my tone.  If only she were so perceptive when it came to the family she’d married into.  “It’s fine.  I’m fine.”

“You’re not.  You really liked him.”

“Don’t tell James.”  It was my only condition.

“Oh, no.  Trowa…”

“Take your son to the park this Sunday.  He could use some quality time with his parents.”

“I—you’re right.  You’re always right.  How does that work?  I’m supposed to be the big sister.”

She was trying to get me to laugh.  I couldn’t let her.  Duo’s side of things depended on his brother believing we’d broken up.  For all I knew, there were listening devices in my home.  In the thermal vest.

“Don’t ask me,” I bit off irritably.  I stopped.  Sighed heavily.  “Look, I’m not going to be very good company for a while, so—”

“Why don’t you get out of town for a bit?”

“Yeah.  Maybe.”  More like “definitely,” but I couldn’t have her getting suspicious.

“If I don’t hear from you by Monday, I’ll send out the cavalry.”

“Oh.  Neigh,” I deadpanned and hung up on her laughter.  It was an old joke between us.  One that would make her feel better.

I packed a bag and ate dinner across from the seat that Duo usually claimed when he was here.  I imagined him there, a beer in hand, his bare foot brushing over mine as he sprawled in his seat and undressed me with his sparkling eyes and asked me about my day.  He was an impressive multi-tasker.

I missed him already.

After nightfall, I dressed in dark, dull clothes and left the building.  Wore a hooded vest.  Carried a slightly scuffed garment bag.  Walked over a few streets.  Took a cab to the airport.  Paid cash.

Three days were all I needed to get the essentials ready.  Zayeed Winner was a respected and well-known businessman in the area.  I asked the typical questions that a prospective employee would.  At the anonymity of an Internet cafe, I sifted through property tax records.  My hands only started shaking after my fourth cup of coffee.

I was able to focus thanks to Khushrenada’s habit of leaving me a solid week to do research on a job before reeling me in for an update.  My boss at DKS had been less than thrilled by my non-negotiable demand for time off.  I’d almost invited him to fire me, but had thought better of it at the last second.  Just in case someone checked, I had to buy as much time as possible.

I made it back to the city on Sunday morning.  The RC flyers would be in the park.  I had the cab drop me off near the self-storage units.  Not an unusual stop for me following a research trip.

It only took ten minutes to pack everything up.  I drove the unremarkable SUV that I’d been keeping there in reserve to a do-it-yourself car wash and sprayed off the dust.  Then I stopped outside a hardware store and fed coins into the parking meter.  A hardware store run was a typical errand for someone in my line of work.  I walked the remaining three blocks to the park.

I found Cathy on one of the wooden benches.  Her sketchbook was open on her lap.  She was already working on the spring fashion line even though it wasn’t Halloween yet.  “I like that one,” I said from over her shoulder, startling her.

“Trowa!” she hissed, glancing down to double check that she hadn’t scratched a dark line over the drawing.  She hadn’t.  I’d timed my interruption very precisely.  I’d gotten good at that over the years.  Timing, I mean.

“Oh, you scared me!  You troll.”

I sat next to her and scanned the park for James.  He was by the water, flying with a slightly older boy.  Dave, I think his name was.  Scuffed when he walked, slouched when he stood, mumbled from within his faded hoodie.  Quiet, introverted, harmless.  But then, that was what most people thought about me.  I kept an eye on Dave.

“Dorian working?”

“Yes.  A business meeting.”  She sighed.

I glanced at her face, noting the softness in her expression.  She really did love the man.  And, I supposed, he really did love her.  Enough to protect her from the truth.  But he wouldn’t be able to protect his son.  Not forever.

“What kind of business?” I asked.

She blinked and lifted a shoulder.  “I’m not sure.”

“I think you have a pretty good idea.”

Letting her hand fall away from the sketch, Cathy asserted sharply, “I don’t know anything about the business.”

“I believe you.”  I held her gaze.  “I also believe that you don’t want to know.”

“It’s not my concern.”

“It’ll be James’s.  Someday.”

She froze.  Her fingers tightened around the mechanical pencil.  It was probably real, solid gold.  A gift from Dorian when she’d started designing children’s clothes and women’s fashions.  Just like the start-up money for her business had been a gift.  To keep her busy.  To help her focus on her own life and ambitions and not look too closely or think too deeply about what sort of work her husband did.

I was still furious that it had taken me so long to realize what the apartment and the private school tuition had been: a way of controlling Cathy and me, but mostly Cathy.  She would have done anything to give me a better life.  Even marry a man who’d had his own selfish motives for choosing a just-turned-eighteen girl living on the streets.  Dorian might have initially taken us in with the intention of escaping from his father’s matchmaking, but there was no denying that he loved his son and doted on his wife, flying with her to Paris and Milan and so forth for fashion show after fashion show.

That didn’t mean I bothered to buy the guy a Christmas present.

Gifts were, understandably, something of a sore spot for me.

When Duo had asked me when my birthday was, I’d told him only after he’d promised not give me anything.

“Not a thing,” he’d vowed… and then he’d cooked my favorite foods for dinner, massaged my shoulders and back, and proceeded to kiss and lick every inch of my body.  Everywhere.  More than once if he’d earned a whimper or gasp for his efforts… which had happened over and over and over again.  It had been, without a doubt, the best birthday I’d ever had.

I swallowed a sigh.

I thought of Duo, of where he was now and what he was doing.

It had only been a few days.  How could I miss him so much my entire being ached?  I curled my hand into a fist, imagining that he was holding on tightly.  Knowing that he was.  He was holding on.

I said to Cathy, “You know that I work for the family.”

“Only occasionally,” she quantified.

I didn’t deny it.  “Would you like to know what I do for them?”

She leaned away, already shaking her head.

“Linus Tsuberov.  Do you remember him?”

“Of course.  One of Dorian’s friends from school.  He was killed in a car accident.”

I nodded.  “And Michalli Septum?”

“A suicide.”

“Roberto Noventa?”

I could see tears in my sister’s eyes.  She was on the verge of crying and not because she’d known these people through Dorian, spoken to them at cocktail parties, or invited them and their families over for a cookout.

“A home invasion,” she breathed.  “He was shot.”

“Now you know what I do for them.”

She sucked in a harsh breath.

“What I’ve been doing for them since I was sixteen.”

“Why are saying this?”

“Because it’s true.”  She didn’t need to know how many people I’d killed or how.  This was enough.

“Why now?”

That was a fair question.  “Dorian can protect you from all of that, he _has_  protected you—”  My personal feelings aside, that was one point I could not argue with.  “—but he can’t protect James.”

The hunch I’d mentioned to Duo had been more or less proven during my last visit to Khushrenada’s office.  Dorian did not want his son getting sucked into the same trap that he’d been unable to escape.  The real question was whether or not Dorian, if given the opportunity, would choose to remove himself from the family business completely.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the padded envelope that I’d picked up from the stationary shop, the one that was a block down from the hardware store.  It was already addressed with more than adequate postage affixed to the upper left corner.  The matronly clerk had been kind enough to lend me a pen and sell me the stamps from her own wallet.

I placed the envelope on top of her sketch pad.

She looked down at it blankly.

“Trowa… I can’t.  I love him.  He’s James’s father.  I can’t do this to him!”

“You are doing this _for_ him,” I told her.  “You love a man whose hands are tied.  The only way for him to be free is if no one can hurt either you or James.”

She bit her lip, smearing her bright red lip gloss onto her front teeth.  Just like she used to do when she’d been a high school student.  Red lipstick and blue eye shadow.  It had helped distract from the bruises beneath the cheap concealer and face powder.

“Brave Catherine,” I began, “my big sister.  Come with me.  There’s a place somewhere out there where James can grow up to be the man he’s meant to be.  The man he wants to be.  Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then write your letter.  I’ll mail it.”

She hesitated, glancing up and across the way to her son.  He was smiling.  Laughing at something Dave had no doubt mumbled.  I didn’t look away from them as Cathy turned the page on her sketch book and started writing.  I gave her as much privacy as I could in order to let her speak with her husband for the last time in what could very well turn into months or years.

Or forever if I was wrong about him.

But there was no point in dwelling on it.

Instead, I thought of the SUV parked nearby.  I’d hidden an unregistered and unused hand gun under the driver’s seat.  My rifle, also never-before-used, was already tucked in its case and wedged behind the backseat, well out of the reach of ten-year-old hands.  Ammo, too.  The bomb components I’d ended up tossing in several separate dumpsters.  Cathy would never forgive me for letting her son ride in a vehicle carrying explosive material no matter how inert it was.

When the lease on the self-storage locker was up, nothing noteworthy would be found.  Nothing that would warrant a call to the police.  The remaining contents would be sold off to the highest bidder, cleared out, and a new tenant would take over.

My garrote, made of strong serrated plastic, was in my pocket as always when I was… working.  Airport security hadn’t been able to detect it.

I was as ready for this as I would ever be.

I thought, again, of Duo.

He knew what I could do and it didn’t frighten him.  But then, he’d worked with bombs.

My skill set didn’t sicken him, either.  But then, he had blood on his hands, too.  The explosion hadn’t been his fault, but that device had been his responsibility.  The blood was there.  Just like there was blood on my hands.  It didn’t make it harder for us to hold on to each other.  On the contrary.  It stuck us together.

Ten minutes passed before I heard the sound of a sheet of paper being torn from its spiral binding.  Cathy folded it, tucked it into the envelope, and passed it to me.  The gold pen had also been put inside.  I asked for her phone and slid that in as well.  I sealed the envelope and put it in my jacket pocket.  I gently flicked the silent tears from her cheeks.

We watched James.  At least he’d be able to bring the RC airplane with him where we were going.

I wasn’t sure that I could have left it behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, when Trowa says that the handgun and rifle had never been used, what he means is that he's never used them to kill or hurt anyone (i.e., he's never used them in the commission of a crime). Trowa had, of course, tested them out at a firing range after buying them.
> 
> Next up:  
> We'll get Duo's POV on what's been happening with him since he and Trowa had the Long Talk (on the short pier). (^_~)


	6. “Fancy meeting you here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: language... of course
> 
> Duo POV

I would have given anything to keep Trowa in the dusty cab of Howard’s shitty, old pick up truck for another five minutes… two hours… three days… twenty years, but I knew I couldn’t.  I knew I couldn’t even help him with what he was about to do.

It wasn’t every day a mafia hitman basically tells his boss to stick it where the sun don’t shine.

God damn, but Trowa had better watch his ass.

I unlocked the back door of the shop and let myself in.  It wouldn’t be long before sunset.  I thought of Howard’s cabin.  The pond.  The dock.  I thought of Trowa right now out front in the customer parking lot.  I listened as he shut his car door.  Waited until he drove away.

Of course it made total sense for a hitman to drive a completely boring and forgettable four-door sedan.  The movies really did get all the good shit wrong.

Letting the door close and lock behind me, I made my way down the hall, skidding when my heel landed on a glossy pamphlet that had not been lying on the floor before I’d left with Trowa.

Just fucking great.  This was the last thing I wanted to deal with right now.  But it wasn’t like I could ignore it.  I bit back a sigh.  Like pulling a loose tooth, it was best to just get it over with.

I turned the corner and flicked on the lights, crossed my arms, and glared at the asshole sitting on Trowa’s stool in the workshop area.

“Well,” he said with a cheerful smile.  “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Fuck off.”

At least he looked sorry for my bad mood.  “Duo, c’mon.  Please be reasonable.”

“Make me, you sack of shit.”

He sighed.  Slouched.  Pouted.  Jesus Christ.  Which one of us was the actual younger brother here?

I growled, “I oughta turn you inside out for that stupid stunt.”

“What?  I made sure no one would get hurt.”

“You don’t know your own boogers from a blasting cap.  If you ever pull shit like that again, you’ll be the one waking up with your own personal expiration date glued to your ass.  Got it?”

Solo smirked.  “Scared the shit outta him, did I?”

“You asshole.  Did it ever occur to you that I might be concerned?”

“You’re the expert.  What did you have to be worried about?”

“Jesus Christ.  That right there is the number one reason why I’ll kill you myself if you ever get any bright ideas about faking a bomb again.”

“OK, while we’re on the subject of things to get royally pissed off over, give me one good reason not to kick your ass for taking off for parts unknown with a known contract killer.”

“I came back, didn’t I?”

“So that means you’re not mad about who I put that care package on?”

I snarled.

He sobered.  “Duo, you needed to know whether or not he knew about your background.  I think it’s safe to say he does.  We’ve got to get you out of here before Khushrenada—”

“Shut the fuck up already.  Did you finish collecting all the bugs you infested Howard’s shop with or not?”

He beamed.  “Got ‘em all.”

“Have you actually removed your head from your ass long enough to listen to them?”

“I listened.”

I could see that he had and he was thinking of the same thing I was: Trowa had walked in here confident that he could talk me through disarming a simple timer detonator.  I didn’t believe that had been an act.  Solo was less inclined to give an assassin who was on Khushrenada's payroll the benefit of the doubt.

Well, it wasn’t as if my brother and I had ever agreed about anything before.  Why start now?

I said, “Get out.”

He sighed.  “We need you to come in.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“And I’ll keep on repeating it until you agree to come back with me.”

“Fine.  Looks like it’s your lucky day.”

Grinning, Solo jumped to his feet.

I punched him in the face.  Hard.

“Ow!  Jeez-o-fuck!  What the hell was that for?”

 _Pick a reason,_  I didn’t say.  Instead, I grunted, “Une.”

“The director?  What?”

I rolled my eyes.  “If I make it too easy for you, she won’t believe you’ve convinced me to come back for good now, will she?”

“Well.  OK.  There’s that.  But, damn it, my eye is gonna swell up!”

“What, you got a hot date tonight?” I sneered, pivoting on my heel to vacate the premises.  I had some packing to do back at Howard’s.  At some point, I’d have to get word to him that I’d bailed.  His globe-trotting dream vacation would have to be cut short.

Yeah, life was full of disappointment.

“Hey, look,” Solo began as I turned off the light, leaving the fallen pamphlet for him to slip on.  A faceplant wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?  “I’m real sorry about your… um, boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.  He’d hesitated over the word because he’d overheard Tro’s proposal via one of his damn listening devices.  He just didn’t know what my answer had been.  Or, more likely, he’d figured it out and was trying to spare me the reminder.  Jesus.

I could only imagine the look on my face.  Thank God it was dark in here.  “Don’t talk to me about him.  Ever.  Do you understand?”  God help me if he blurted out some other sympathetic shit at the wrong damn time and I wasn’t fast enough to cover up my worry and anticipation and hope.

“Got it.  I’ll book our tickets.”

“Don’t bother.  We’ll drive.”

“You gonna let me drive the Baby?”  He was fucking gleeful at the prospect.

“Hell no.  And if you start drooling I will kick your ass out without slowing down.”

“Fair enough.”

Fair.  Yeah, OK, at least one thing in life was.  Who’d thunk it?

“You would have done it, wouldn’t’ve you?” I challenged.  He sent me an inquiring look, reminding me that just because he was my patronizing older brother, that didn’t make him a mind reader.  I elaborated, “You would have ratted me out to the Organized Crime dweebs at the FBI.”

“Jesus, Duo.  I don’t want you dead.”

Which was what had happened to every single agent who’d managed to wedge a foot in the door of Khushrenada Enterprises.  Or so my buddy Chang had fumed at me over a pint following the last case I’d consulted on for his team.

Solo bleated, “What do you take me for?”

“An ambitious, self-centered glory hound obsessed with micromanaging anything that touches on your life even tangently.”

He scowled.  This was his Thinking Face.  “I see.  Still doing the truth thing, huh?”

“It works for me.”

It was an eight-hour drive to the Center.  We made good time on the empty, dark streets.  Solo spent the time checking the swelling on his eye.  Every five minutes.  With a flashlight.

“Just lemme get some ice for this, damn it.”

“Not in my Baby.”

“Jucking ferk.”

I bit my lip to keep the bark of laughter under control.  Trust Solo to whip out one of our childhood witticisms now of all times.  At least he didn’t mention Trowa again.  So I was able to work myself into a real snit before I faced off with Director Une.  First thing in the morning and all.  My favorite way to start the workday.

“Mister Maxwell,” she greeted me, a cup of steaming coffee at her elbow.  Not that she offered me any.

I arched a brow.  “Director.”

Looking Solo’s way, she said, “Thank you for bringing him in, Agent Maxwell.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.”  He looked at me.  “Try and pace yourself, squirt.”

“Go suck on the water cooler.”

Solo smirked, glanced to his boss and got a nod.  Guess that meant he could get right on my suggestion.  Or something equally productive.  As soon as the door snicked shut behind him, the director came around her desk and motioned me into one of the chairs at the small conference table that took up half the office.

Her ass hadn’t even hit the cushion of the chair before I blurted, “Pretty sure this is the part where you assure me that I am legitimately unemployed and you need me to fake some shit for a sting op meant to flush out the asswipe who screwed with my device in the Marvel Case.”

She arched a brow.  “You’re not concerned about being prosecuted for negligence?”

I gave her a look.  “You’ve never been shy about prosecuting anybody.”

“That is true.”  Her lips twitched.  “Your assessment of the situation is correct.  We’ve already done the majority of the heavy lifting; the hacker has been caught, but I’m sure you won’t be surprised to learn that that particular avenue of investigation has led us nowhere.  The individual or individuals who ordered and bankrolled the events in question have not been apprehended.  We’ve informed the board that it may be possible to obtain additional data from the device recordings, but it will require algorithms known only by you to decode and process.”

Color me unsurprised.  “How long is this going to take?”

“How long would it normally take for you to decode encrypted data?”

“Seeing as how you didn’t hire me for that in the first place, it’s obviously not my strong suit.  Plus, I’ll need to make sure the ‘data’ is kept separate and secure from the rest of the network, which will limit computing power.”  I shrugged.  “It’ll take as long as it takes.”

She smiled.  “I’m glad we can see eye-to-eye on this, Mister Maxwell.”

“Who’s got the pleasure of watching my ass?”

“Agent Yuy.”

“Whoo boy.  The best sniper y’all have got, no less.  I feel spoiled.”

“He volunteered.”

Well, hell.  He was probably expecting to get his hands on my Baby in exchange.  What an asshole.  “Is he waiting for an engraved invitation, then?”

“No, he’s been tracking Agent Maxwell since he left to recover you.”

Oh, fuck.  In order to keep Yuy quiet about Trowa, I was totally gonna have to hand over my Baby.  Damn it.  Still, it wasn’t like I could take a car that distinct with me where I was going.  Well.  At least Yuy was a decent driver.  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t be pissed off about it.

“He’ll be set up in your lab by the time you arrive.  Anything you say, he will hear.”

“Copy that.  I guess I’d better go look busy.”

She stood and opened the door.  Waved me into the lobby.  Escorted me through the minefield of cubicles.  Walked with me to the elevator and shook my hand.  “It’s good to have you back, Mister Maxwell.  You’ve been missed.”

“I’ll take your word for it, ma’am.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some dirtbags to toss under the wheels of justice.”

The elevator doors whispered shut.  I punched the button for B5.  My little hole in the ground.  The Boom Burrow.  Heh.  I was so fucking witty.

Arriving, I noticed right off that there had been several changes.  “Huh.  New fire extinguisher.  Gotta keep up with code, I guess.  I bet this means no more sacrifices to that poor schmuck Prometheus for the sake of technological enlightenment, either.  Bummer.”

Giving my dusty work station a long blow, I snorted.  Coughed.  Waved a hand and managed to stir up an even bigger dirt cloud.  Fan-frickin’-tastic.

“Heh.  Yeah, man.  When things go to shit… bummer.”

It took the better part of the day just to take care of the dust.  I could understand why no one had bothered to clean since I’d left; God knew what kind of fun things I’d left lying around when I’d dropped the mic and stormed off stage.  But damn was I tired.  Driving all night had not been the best idea, but I’d been terrified of someone informing Khushrenada of Solo’s stunt and Trowa’s mad dash to the store.  Don’t get me wrong; I was damn glad Tro had come to me.  That show of trust was what had convinced me to be real with him.  But I had to wonder how closely he was being watched, either on Khushrenada’s orders or by a jealous rival hoping to move in on his game.

But yeah, the fact that Trowa had come directly to me…  That meant a lot.  I didn’t think anyone else in the universe would trust me that much.  Not even Solo.  Well, OK, lots of people would trust me to diffuse a bomb that had been strapped to their chest, but only because they already knew it had been my damn job for six years and I’d never fucked up, in person or via live feed.  But Trowa hadn’t known that about me and he’d come to me anyway, convinced he could talk me through it.

What an ass.

Why the hell had I agreed to marry him?

OK, fine.  I knew why.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t an ass.

And _that_ sure as shit didn’t mean that I wasn’t missing him a whole fucking lot.

I vacuumed my lab from top to bottom three times before the gizmo’s filter stopped picking up an appreciable amount of dust.  In the morning, I’d wipe down the ceiling, walls, and floor with damp disposable towels, then I’d be back in business.

I crashed on the sofa that was wedged against the wall beside my computer station and drafting table.  It was hard to believe that Yuy had eyes and ears in here that I hadn’t found or fucked up in my cleaning frenzy, but I had to trust that we were still all clear for our little traitor-hunt.  Yeah, Une hadn’t said anything about the likelihood of the bad guy hiding in our trenches.  I was assuming he was, though.  Who else could have known enough about the device to screw with it?

Besides, Yuy was watching me while I was here.  At work.  In one of the most secure buildings in the country.  Hell, they did thermal scans to make sure you were, literally, cool enough to be let in or out.  Plus the retina and fingerprint scans.  The only living creatures inside this building were the ones who worked here.  As there was nowhere else someone could have acquired the complex series of codes to detonate that particular device, the leak had to be somewhere in these walls.

Had to be.

All I had to do was dole out enough rope for the bastard to hang himself.

Which meant I was going to have to lock myself in here for a believable amount of time.

I’d give it ten days.  Twelve tops.  That was my limit.  I was gonna be even more pissed than I already was if delays managed to stretch this steaming pile of dog crap out beyond that.

And I took much satisfaction in the thought of Trowa disassembling both Yuy and Solo if the bad dudes got to me.

I smirked up at the ceiling.  My lashes drifted shut.  I’d been awake for thirty-six hours straight, so it shouldn’t come as a shock that I didn’t even have the energy for a silent prayer before I was down for the count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what's Duo gonna do for food for the next week and a half: vending machines and the building cafeteria (when it's open).
> 
> What about clean underwear? Well, let's just say there's a stall in the men's bathroom that turns into a line-dry laundry space. (Yes, Duo would totally use hand soap to wash his skivvies in the sink instead of leaving the premises to find a laundromat. Well, this Duo would, anyway. Because, let's be real, if he sets foot outside the Center again, he ain't comin' back for nothin'.)


	7. “This is my favorite song!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: language, reference to male/male sexy times
> 
> I just discovered another song that gives me ALL THE FEELS: “The (Shipped) Gold Standard” by Fall Out Boy  
> BUT, the song referenced in this chapter is "California Dreamin'" by The Mamas and the Papas
> 
> With this chapter, I'm adding this fic to the "Do Your Thing" Collection on AO3, which I've started up to offer a set of monthly prompts to promote creativity. I hope you'll check it out! 
> 
> Trowa POV (we pick up a few hours after the conclusion of Chapter 5)

I made one last call with my phone.  As Cathy and James stepped inside McDonald’s for takeout, I sat at one of the outdoor tables and dialed a number I’d never had to use much, but had memorized all the same.

“Trowa?  Is this urgent?”

“Yes, it is.  You may want privacy.”

I listened as my brother-in-law excused himself from whatever meeting or interrogation he was in the middle of and found a quiet place to take my call.  “Is it James?  Cathy?”

“Both,” I told him.

“Oh, God.  What’s happened?  Please!”

“Dorian.  Take a deep breath.  I’m going to tell you a name and a number.  Do not write either down or repeat them out loud.  Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.  What’s going on?”

“Wufei Chang,” I said, passing on the name as well as the contact number that Duo had given me for the FBI agent currently in charge of investigating Treize Khushrenada.  Once Dorian assured me that he had committed both to memory, I said, “Call him.”

“And tell him what?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Dorian was a smart man.  Smart enough to stay alive all these years in spite of his personal feelings toward the family business.

He sucked in a harsh breath.  Held it.  Made an audible and valiant effort to calm himself.  “If I don’t?”

“James and Cathy will be safe.  For the rest of their lives.”

There was a long pause.  “You son of a bitch.  Let me speak with my wife!”

In removing Cathy and James from Treize’s reach, I was actually doing Dorian a favor; he was probably too furious to see it that way right now.  I would be, too, if I were him.  Yes, he would undoubtedly love to kick my ass for this.  I supposed he might, someday, have the chance to give it his best shot… and I could try not to do any permanent damage.

But where would the fun be in that?

“I’ll be in touch as soon as Treize and Mariemaia are convicted and sentenced.  As things stand now, you can’t offer my sister or your son the life they deserve, Dorian.  Think about their future.  Make the call or don’t.  It’s all the same to me.”

“You coward!  It should be you making the call.”

“If you’d thought of this first and had had the balls to go through with it, it would be.”

I hung up and pulled out my pocket knife.  Removed the battery and SIM card before wiping the casing down and dropping the pieces of my phone to the bricks.  I smashed them under my heel for good measure.  Used a paper napkin to throw the mess in the trash bin.  Then I went inside the restaurant to help carry the takeout bags.

We ate on the road in the car.  It was registered in the name of someone I didn’t know and who probably wouldn’t ever find out that he’d mysteriously acquired a used SUV.  Identity theft at its finest.  And relatively harmless.  I didn’t need the schmuck’s money, just a little camouflage.  I didn’t feel the least bit guilty; Duo would say it was for a good cause.

It was a long drive to the first safe house, a property owned by the Winner family.  A hunting lodge with its own generator.  I’d inspected the place during my visit a few days ago… after I’d located a local ID artist and before picking up the documents I’d ordered.

It amused me that the very job Khushrenada had tasked me with would offer up a haven.

That night I tucked James into bed while Cathy was taking some time for herself.  I could hear the water running in the shower.  She’d once told me it was the best place to have a long cry.

“Uncle Trowa?”

“Yes, James?”

He screwed up his nerve before saying, “My dad isn’t here cuz he’s busy working, isn’t he?”

“Your dad,” I began, “has a very important decision to make and a big job to do.”

“He always does.”

“It’s different this time.”

“How?”

“Because he’s doing it so he can be with you and your mom.”

James blinked once, studying me in silence.  “When am I gonna see him again?”

I didn’t know how to answer that.  “We’ll take it one day at a time.”

“Can we call him?”

“That’s not safe.  Your dad’s trying to stop some very bad people.  We have to let him do his work.”

“Can we call Duo?”

Oh, God.  I swallowed.  “Not tonight.”

James rolled his eyes.  “I know.  It’s after ten.”

“It sure is.  And that means it’s time for you to go to sleep.”

He fidgeted with the unfamiliar bed sheets.  “Sing something?”

What could an uncle do in the face of such blatant procrastination?  I caved, “Yeah.  OK.”

I drew in a deep breath and recalled one of my favorite songs, one that would play on the oldies station every day after school and I’d sit on the filthy floor in the kitchen, wedged between the refrigerator and the wall with the clunky, old radio in my lap, fingers gripping the bent antenna for a clearer signal.

I remembered the first time I’d heard it in Duo’s GTO.  We’d been driving home from the hillside view of the riverfront Fourth of July fireworks.  As the acoustic guitar intro had filled the car, Duo had reached toward the radio.  I’d held my breath, already resenting the mere thought of him turning it off.  But he hadn’t.  He’d turned it up.

“This is my favorite song!”  And then he’d confided, amusingly subdued, “But I can’t sing for shit.”

It was a relief to think that if I just closed my eyes, I’d be back there, in that moment, with Duo again.

I sang to my nephew, “All the leaves are brown…”

James grinned and chimed in, “The leaves are brown…”

“And the sky is gray.”

“And the sky is gray.”

“I’ve been for a walk…”

“I went for a walk!”

“On a winter’s day…”

When I got to the flute solo, I hummed through it with him, hands held aloft and twitching my fingers as if playing a ghostly instrument. It had been ages since I’d played — not since I’d finished high school — but I would always remember these notes.

Why hadn’t I played this song for Duo?

I would.  Someday, I’d have a flute of my own again — I'd have _Duo_ again — and I would.

James drifted off to sleep with his head on my chest and my soft humming beneath his ear.  It had been a couple of years since I’d sung him to sleep.  A nightmare when he’d been seven, I think.  Once again, Dorian and Cathy had been out of the country at a show and had left James with me for the weekend.  My nephew had put up a brave front today, but he had to be unnerved.  Tomorrow was a school day but, clearly, he wouldn’t be going.  No one had reminded him to do his homework.  His school books, his clothes, his toys and comics were all still in his bedroom back in the house he’d grown up in… and would likely never see again.

All I’d told him was that he, his mother, and I were going away for a while.  It was a measure of his impressive trust that he hadn’t asked why.  Or perhaps he’d simply sensed that he wouldn’t like the answer, so he was avoiding the imminent heartache.  A kind of subconscious self-preservation.

Duo would have told me to stop second-guessing my first inclination.

“Of course he trusts you, Tro,” I could imagine Duo saying.  “You’ve never let him down.”

But I had.  I’d been letting him down since before he was born.  Today, I’d finally done something to deserve his trust.

I waited twenty minutes and then eased him beneath the covers.

I found Cathy in the hall just outside the door.  Her cheeks were wet again.  She looked in on James and shut the door.  We went downstairs to the kitchen to clean up the mess we’d made.  It looked like a convenience store had had a bout of explosive diarrhea on the table.

I may have encouraged James to let off some steam by trashing the kitchen.  I’d been the one to slingshot the first cellophane ball with a spare rubber band at his chest.  Cathy had blown the plastic wrapper off of her straw right at my nose in retaliation.  Triumphant grin gone, I’d gawped utterly aghast at her opening volley, and then the hovering swarm of uncertainty had been chased from the room by James’s giggle and the paper napkin football he’d flicked at me.

So if the kitchen resembled a war zone, well, clearly there was a reason for it.

“What is this place?” Cathy asked quietly as we worked.

I shrugged.  “Somewhere on the way.”

“Tycho Rowan Barton, did you break in here?”

I smirked.  The full-name scolding had lost its bite when, in a moment of post-coital stupidity, I’d finally told Duo my given name…

 

> “That is so cool,” he had breathed with undeniable awe, and then he’d answered my narrow-eyed suspicion by grabbing for his smartphone and, naked, had looked up Tycho Brahe, a 16th century Danish astronomer (and noble) who had possessed not only a huge fortune but a metal prosthetic nose… thanks to a duel over which hot-headed, twenty-year-old male was the better mathematician.  Of all things.
> 
> “Seriously?” I’d muttered.
> 
> Duo had laughed.  “I could not make this up if I tried, babe.”
> 
> The first hit on “Rowan” had been the British comedic actor, Rowan Atkinson, known for his indisputably elastic facial features.  “Of course.  Goes hand-and-glove with a metal nose,” I’d grumped.
> 
> “You wanna know what the names mean?” Duo had asked, settling against my shoulder.
> 
> “Sure.”  Why not?
> 
> Tycho: of Greek origin, “hitting the mark”
> 
> Rowan: from Gaelic, meaning “little red one”
> 
> I’d suppressed a shiver.
> 
> Duo’s appraising gaze had slid down my bare torso and lower.  “Hm.  Not so little, though.”
> 
> That had earned him a pillow swat.  And then a kiss-to-make-it-better.  Plus a follow-up to what had left us sweaty, disheveled, and naked to begin with.

Cathy could wield my full name all she liked; it didn’t bother me anymore.

“I wouldn’t say I _broke_ in here.”  Duo hadn’t just taught me to appreciate my birth name.  He’d also lit a fire in me for the fine art of wordplay: I had broken not a thing in gaining entrance to the Winner family hunting lodge.  With a shrug, I downplayed, “I just followed the example of Goldilocks.”

“A likely story.”

“I’d liked it, yes.”

She swatted me on the arm.  “Will you talk to me?”

“About what?” I evaded.

“Duo.”

I blew out a breath.  The uncertain present burned through the gentle haze of the past, singeing my entire being until my nerves were pulsing with a million emotions in concert.  I hoped he was still OK.  Still safe.  I hoped he still wanted me.  Still thought I was worth leaving everything behind for.

I stared at my hands as I tied the handles shut on our chosen garbage bag very tightly.

She pressed, “Is that why this is happening now?”

“In a way.”

She stared at me.  I dropped the bag of garbage to the floor and ran my hands over the edge of the counter top.  To the stove and back again.  “Duo found out what I do — what I _did_ — for Khushrenada.  When he told me, I…”  I shrugged.  “I couldn’t just pretend to be the man he thought I was anymore.  I had to choose.  I want to deserve him.”

My sister’s hand reached out and squeezed mine.

“The rest of it,” I hurried to say before she let me get away with only half of the truth, “was cowardice.  It happened now because I was hoping someone else would just… take the problem away for us.”

“You mentioned James,” she prompted.

I told her about my most recent visit to the Khushrenada offices: Mariemaia’s insistence, Dorian’s fury, the inevitability of another young man getting caught in the same trap.  History repeating itself.

“Dorian knows you’re both with me,” I concluded.  “That’s all he can know.  Contacting him now would be too dangerous.”

She sniffled.  Nodded her bowed head.  Stared unseeing at the arms she’d crossed over her chest midway through the second part of my confession.  “I know.”  She leaned back against the stove and looked up toward the floor above, drawing my attention to the child sleeping there.  “If anything happened to James, he would never survive that.  We would never survive that.  I know.”

But it was one thing to know and another to _know._ I doubted she’d had enough time to let the truth and the coming hardship really sink in.  I didn’t doubt she would be able to handle it but, in the meantime, she could cry as much as she needed to.

I moved to reach for the nearest dishtowel, but stopped myself.  I didn’t want to remind her of that morning when she’d told me she was pregnant with James.  That glimmer of hope for the future.  Eleven years ago.  It suddenly felt like we’d made it once around the Monopoly board and were starting over with a measly two hundred dollars and so much real estate to muddle through.  So many grasping hands trying to take from us what little we could call ours, bit by bit.

“Wait,” Cathy exclaimed softly, her nose stuffy.  “What about Duo?  Even after finding out the truth…  I understand it’s a shock, but you didn’t want to do those things and—Trowa, he might want to see you again.  Things between you two could work out.”

“I hope they will.”

She stared at me for a long moment before conceding, “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I can.  We’re not completely safe yet.”  I pulled her close for a hug so that we could both pretend that there weren’t tears in her eyes.

“Don’t wanna jinx it, huh?” she muttered against my shoulder.

I smiled.  “Yeah.”

I rubbed her back and told her, “Try and get some sleep.  Just, don’t come downstairs in the middle of the night without telling me first.”

She didn’t ask why.  “All right.  Good night, Trowa.”

I prayed it would be.  “Good night, Cathy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to use the song “California Dreamin’” (by The Mamas and the Papas) for the lullaby AND THEN I went to You Tube to check out the exact lyrics and give it a full listen… only to find that THERE’S A FLUTE SOLO IN THE MIDDLE OF IT. Like, I died. Just… how the hell had that happened? My subconscious at work or pure dumb luck??
> 
> ALSO more “dumb luck” (you decide!) I chose the name “Tycho Rowan” for “Trowa” without checking the meanings first. When I finally did, I found “hitting the mark” (for “Tycho”) and “little red one” (for “Rowan”) which, like, the only thing that’s debatable there is the “little” but even then, Cathy calls him her “little Trowa.” (Doesn’t she? Am I remembering that right?) So… I’m thinking it fits. It so FITS.


	8. “You really… That’s not exactly meant to be eaten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mild language, reference to kind-of-explicit male/male sexy times
> 
> This chapter's flashback!smut is dedicated to Kangofu-CB who ASKED FOR IT. (And I hope I've DELIVERED.) (^_~)
> 
> Trowa POV

I made myself not-too-comfortable on the sofa downstairs.  Spent the night waking to unfamiliar sounds, pacing the ground-level rooms with a gun in hand and the safety on.  I listened, but there were no sounds of vehicles or shoe tread.  The only face in the windows was mine.

The property of my most recent mark was probably the last place Treize would think to look for us if Dorian had told him what I’d done.

It was also the last place Treize would dare to disturb me if he thought I was still following his orders; if I had decided to lay a trap for Winner at his own hunting lodge, Treize would be a fool to send his bumbling goons this way and risk tipping off the target.  Treize Khushrenada was not a fool.

It was a long night.  More than once, I imagined Duo stepping up behind me, wrapping his strong arms around my waist and kissing the side of my neck.

“You smell nice,” he liked to tell me.

“Am I damned by faint praise?” I liked to tease.

“Well.  I’ll be damned if I let you think that,” he’d never fail to answer… 

> The first time my vivid and unforgiving nightmares had driven me away from Duo’s side and out of bed, Duo had found me burning off anxiety by hating myself in the living room, glaring at the street view from the window.  If Duo hadn’t been staying over, I would have washed the windows, dusted the ceiling, anything to bleed out some of my fury at all the things I’d never be able to take back or make right.
> 
> But Duo had been there, familiar banter and all.  He’d embraced me from behind and flicked the lobe of my ear with his tongue.  His hands had moved in opposite directions, one sliding up under my shirt and the other over the front of my pajama pants.
> 
> I’d stood still and let him.
> 
> I’d groaned when his arousal had pressed against the pulled-taut seat of my PJ’s.
> 
> I’d gasped his name when his fingers had caught and snagged on my sensitive and flushed skin, lingering and teasing until I’d surrendered to the brief escape he was offering.
> 
> I’d pushed him away from the window and perched him on the sofa back, kissing him frantically.  Panting, licking at his tongue, clutching myself closer.  I’d knelt on the cushions and we’d clawed our way through clothes.  Nibbled on each other’s lips and placed biting, open-mouthed kisses on each other’s shoulders, collarbones, neck.
> 
> Instead of asking what had woken me in the middle of the night or even why I was seemingly compelled to nearly-devour him, Duo had dug out the lube that he’d brought from the bedroom, finished kicking his jeans away, and slicked me.  I’d stretched him as he’d braced his shoulders against the wall and gripped the back of the sofa under his hands with desperation, his feet on the cushions and hips rolling into my touch.
> 
> Only when he’d begun to dance — hard and mindlessly primal — on my fingers had I grabbed his hips.  Filled him.  He legs had wound around my waist and I’d taken him slow… slow… slow and so deep right there arched over the sofa in my darkened living room.  I’d watched, mesmerized by the shadowed contrast as his shoulders had rubbed against the blank wall and his back had bowed.  I’d groaned when the movement had forced me even deeper.  Licked the arch of his neck.  Flushed with heat at the sound of his needy moans.
> 
> “Trowa, baby, you’re so good to me.  Oh, God.  Oh, hng...  Tro, please.   _Please.”_

I shivered at the echo of his impassioned whisper.  I ached.  I would never stop wanting him.

In the morning, I told Cathy we had to get ready to leave.  As she looked through the upstairs closets for supplies, James caught me frowning at the rustic fireplace.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?  Um, I’m trying to think of a good way to leave someone a message.”

“There’s paper and stuff…” he pointed toward the hallway and the den that I’d looked in on after we’d arrived.

I nodded.  “It has to be a secret message, though.”

“A secret?  What kind?”

“I want him to know that he’s in danger.”

James pursed his lips in thought.  Quirked his mouth to one side.  “How about a black spot?  Like in ‘Treasure Island’?”  He mimed the scene for me.  “You know the part where Billy Bones gets the black spot and then he croaks?”

I’d never read the story, so I didn’t know... but it sounded promising.  I smiled.

James ducked his head.  “It’s a dumb idea.”

“No,” I argued, giving his tense shoulders a squeeze before he could stomp off.  “It’s a great idea.  Come on.  Give me a hand.”

He followed me into the kitchen where I found a large, white cutting board and placed it on the freestanding butcher’s block, testing the effect.  So far, so good.  Then I raided the pantry.  I told James, “I’m looking for something gooey and dark.”

He glanced from me to the set-up in progress.  “You wanna make a black spot?”

“Kind of, yeah.  Look down there.”  I pointed to the lower shelves.  I started rummaging among the offerings on the top shelves.  While I was at it, I grabbed a few things for the road and our final destination, which would be empty of food.

“I dunno what this is, but it’s dark.”

I looked down and James held up a jar.  I read the label.  “It’s perfect.”

I sat it down on the cutting board and turned my attention to the next task on my To-do list, hunting up a plastic garbage bag.

“Help me pack this up,” I asked James, gesturing to the boxes and cans and jars I’d claimed for us.  When we’d finished picking apart the pantry, I told him to run the food out to the car.

“Put it in the backseat.”  I did not want him to find the rifle buried in the narrow, rear cargo hold.

Carrying the molasses and the cutting board over to the fireplace, I waited until the door shut and James’s footsteps retreated down the porch steps before I took the jar in hand and smashed it against the masonry.

I was just standing up, holding the remains of the jar in the center of the cutting board, when Cathy came pounding down the stairs.

“James!  Trowa?”

“It’s all right,” I told her, walking past her and back into the kitchen.

“Goodness!  A little warning there, buster.”  She blinked as I replaced the arrangement on the butcher’s block.  “What are you doing?”

“Signing my work.”  I dabbed my fingers in the slowly pooling contents of the jar and deliberately pressed each pad to the clear glass.  Four on one side.  Four on the other.  Two thumbprints near the top.

Automatically, I brought my right thumb to my mouth and sucked at the smudge of molasses.

Cathy balked.  “You really…  That’s not exactly meant to be eaten.”

“I concur,” I muttered through a grimace.  Bleh.

She reached over and turned on the water faucet for me so I could wash up.  She watched me with her chin angled to the side, squinting at me in bafflement.  “Why in the world would you leave behind your fingerprints?”

“Because the man who owns this place will be here this coming weekend with his son.  For the start of the hunting season.”

“So?”

“So they need to be warned.”

She gasped.  “You were supposed to…?”

“Yes.”  I looked at her.  “But I’m not going to.  Doesn’t mean someone else won’t be sent in my place, though.  When the owners find this, hopefully, they’ll be smart enough to ask the police to run my prints.”

“You’re in the system?”

“My fingerprints are.  From a job a long time ago.  Still unsolved.  I was careless.”

“If you’ve never been arrested, how would you know that the police have them?  An informant?”

“I don’t doubt that Khushrenada has more than one, but no.  Duo told me.  It’s a long story.”

“That I’ll get to hear eventually?”

I huffed.  Were all big sisters this pushy?  “Yes.  Eventually.”

Cathy leaned against the wall and looked from me to the makeshift “black spot” in the middle of the kitchen.  Even from there, I knew she could see the clear impressions I’d left behind.  Once Winner’s people checked — and I knew they would — Zayeed Winner would realize that a mob hitman had been here.  And since there was a strong chance that the man who’d been killed in that hit eight years ago had vocally opposed Khushrenada, it would be a foregone conclusion that his business partner, Treize, was less than pleased with him.

It wasn’t an email, but I didn’t dare something that would spell out my intentions to Khushrenada if it were intercepted.  Nor could I risk anything small, like a handwritten note, that could slip through the cracks before Winner got the message.  This was unusual enough for a cleaning crew to pause over and contact their employer about before cleaning it up.  It was also obscure enough that Treize might give me the benefit of the doubt if he were unaware of my betrayal: Khushrenada might assume I had left this message as way of terrorizing Winner into relocating to a place where I was lying in wait for him.

Regardless., I hoped it would be enough: I couldn’t contact Winner directly.  For the sake of his safety and mine.  Besides, Cathy and James were my first priority.

Staring at the message I’d concocted for Zayeed Winner, I told Cathy, “I should have done this years ago — convinced you to leave with James.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She didn’t sound upset, so I answered honestly, “I was never sure of Dorian.  If he went to his father and started a manhunt, no place would ever be safe.”  No matter how well-prepared I thought I was.  The man’s resources were vast.

“But now, because of what you overheard at the office…?”

“I believe he’ll choose to give James the opportunities that he himself didn’t have.”

She smiled.  “I do, too.”

Ah.  Hence the lack of tears this morning.  She was sure her husband would do the right thing… and not get himself killed in the process.

The front door banged open.  “OK, Uncle Trowa!  What’s next?”

Looking to Cathy, I asked, “Ready?”

She nodded and went to go fetch the blankets and whatnot that she’d decided we’d need more than our host would.

We drove on back roads.  I assigned James the map and explained the importance of the navigator’s job.  He took us through as many unfamiliar-sounding small dots as he could find along our general direction.  Just like I’d asked.

We pulled over at the occasional small gas station, the kind that had a single security camera, if any, mainly meant to catch the license plate numbers of drive-offs.  I wore a hood as I filled the tank.  Looked for surveillance when I went inside the shop to pay.  Drove the car around to the parking area out of range of the lenses before letting Cathy and James get out to use the restrooms… which were often outdoors.  James wrinkled his nose at the less-than-pristine toilet conditions, but Cathy didn’t complain.

We didn’t waste time at sit-down restaurants.  I bought the most filling and nutritious items I could find during our brief stops.  I had cleaned out the cash I’d kept squirreled away in my apartment; we were good on funds, but we were frugal nonetheless.

Our final destination was a small house just inside Amish country.  It had cell phone service and quiet, dirt roads.  Forests filled with deer and, subsequently, seasonal hunters.  At this time of year, a gunshot would not be out of place here.

The house and surrounding woodland were mine insofar as I held the deed.  The name on it belonged to a man who had passed away years ago and who would certainly not care that I paid the property taxes via a post office box, which I had already canceled.

I’d told Duo the truth: this was not a new idea.  I’d anticipated this day and, little by little, I’d done my best to prepare for it over the years.  The bomb had forced my hand, yes, but there wasn’t much else I would have needed to do.  Maybe I could have acquired a second house or built a bunker.  The passports and new IDs had taken days rather than weeks or months to set up, so those had easily been dealt with at the last minute.

Luckily, there was the possibility that Dorian would see reason and finally grow a pair.  Once Khushrenada was out of the picture, we could assume new identities.  Start over.  For real this time.

“We’re hiding, aren’t we?” James idly inquired about five days after we’d arrived.  He’d joined me on the back porch to watch the deer in the twilight.  They roamed through the harvested cornfield in the distance, sifting through the detritus.

“Yes,” I confirmed.  “We’re hiding.”

He wasn’t surprised.  He just nodded, folding his arms over the weathered wooden railing and resting his chin on top.  “From my dad?”

I couldn’t say for sure.  “From bad people.”

“Are we ever going home?”

I resisted the urge to blurt an answer.  Instead, I borrowed a page from Duo’s book and asked a question that had a chance of making genuine progress: “Would you like to go home?”

He frowned.  “I don’t know.  I don’t want things to go back to, you know, normal.”

Normal: a father who was always too busy for him and a mother who was constantly on-the-go.  “I don’t blame you.  How about a new start?  Do you think you could do that?”

He sighed.  Shifted.  Fidgeted.  “New friends, too?”

“Yeah.  New friends, too.”  I doubted that it would be much of a hardship for him to leave his former classmates behind.  Those kids hadn’t been stupid or deaf; they’d overheard their parents’ worried and whispered discussions of the Khushrenada in their son or daughter’s class.  Young children might not have been able to decode the fine points of vague adult gossip, but they’d understood enough.  Enough to know that there was something not right.

When he’d been younger, James had challenged anyone who’d dared to accuse his family of bad deeds.  I knew this because I’d usually been the one to take the principal’s call.  At some point in the year before, James had given up.  He'd withdrawn.  His closest “friends” were the ones most likely to start the very rumors he despised.  It was no wonder he was so disenchanted with life at ten-and-a-half years of age.  Tragic, but not unexpected given the circumstances.

On my way home from a job one night, exhausted and sickened by what I’d done and who I’d become, I’d stopped at a red light and glanced listlessly toward the ramshackle hut of Howard’s Hobby Shop.  The idea to take my nephew there to pick out a remote-controlled airplane had come to me in a brainwave.  I’d been struck by a vision of James spending weekends at the park meeting other kids who didn’t know his last name: this was how I could give him a place where he could just be himself.  Just James.

Two weekends later, I’d taken James to that little store for his birthday and now, six months on, here we were: far away from everything familiar.

“A new beginning.  It’s going to be hard work, but it’ll be worth it,” I predicted.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”  I squeezed his shoulder.

“Does Duo know where we are?”

Why did kids always ask the hardest questions?  I returned fire.  It was the only way I knew how to deal with James’s innocent logic and sharp curiosity without lying to him.  “Would you like him to come see us?”

James nodded.  “I miss him.”

“Yeah.”  I cleared my throat.  “Yeah.  Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if there's a hunting season that opens in mid-October, but that's when Trowa, Cathy, and James are at the Winner hunting lodge. 
> 
> Thanks to Kangofu-CB, the idea of leaving an obscure message to warn Zayeed Winner turned into its own chapter. Also, THANKS FOR LETTING ME IDEA BOUNCE THE BLACK SPOT AT YOU, MY FRIEND! (^_~)
> 
> MUCH THANKS to pellsfan (of LJ) for leaving comments that inspired me to articulate my headcanon for James's perspective (in the part where Trowa reflects on his nephew's struggles with his former classmates in school).
> 
> And now... back to Duo's POV with the next chapter! (^_^)


	9. “Wanna go for a drive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: language
> 
> Duo POV

“Three bottles of beer on the wall, three bottles of beer!”

I was counting down.  Not just to the last bottle of beer, but to my freedom.  Counting down to Trowa.  God.  I missed him so much I was almost tempted to open up a game of solitaire on my laptop.  It would be so easy to let myself fall into a zone of mindless clicking and a brief escape from reality, but I resisted.  Manfully resisted.

Instead, I ran my fake “post analysis data” through another coding encryption, back-building the “evidence” that I was about to send upstairs with my report before I hit the road and got to spend a night in a real bed.  Finally.

I briefly wished that my old apartment hadn’t been gutted and rented out.  I’d had some comfortable shit, but nothing of significant sentimental value.  I certainly hadn’t left behind anything that I hadn’t wanted to live without.  Which pretty much amounted to my car… or, it had.  Anything I absolutely _could not_  live without was… well, in hiding already.

Praise Jesus.

“Take one down and pass it around!”

It was damn amazing that Yuy hadn’t shot me yet.  Maybe he was wearing earplugs.  Damn.  Why hadn’t I, now that I thought of it?  Sonuvabitch.

“Two bottles of beer on the wall!”

I hit the print command and spun my sweet set of office wheels over to the printer.  I would normally have just emailed my shit up to the director and the rest of the board, but this was special delivery.  Besides, I’d heard stories about the kind of wizardry the digital forensics department could crank open on files.  So I was going old school on this one.  Especially given that my report was complete and utter bullshit from start to finish.  Someone would totally raid my computer and figure out that I’d made it all up, but by then I was hoping that the “data” would have fulfilled its purpose.  And, also, I had every intention of being being long gone at that point.

“Two bottles of beer!  Take one down, pass it around!”

I levered myself up out of the desk chair, shuffled the pages, stapled, slapped them in a file folder, and staggered toward the door.  Damn, but I was so done with sleeping on that fucking sofa, drinking shit instant coffee, gnawing on jerky and Cheetos from the vending machine.  Eugh.  I was having a steak for dinner, rare, with an actual potato, baked, under a heap of sour cream if it killed me.

And a beer.  Because.  B E E R.

Speaking of which.  “One bottle of beer on the wall!”  I pressed the elevator call button.  “Take it down, fuck passing it ‘round!”  My singing voice really was shit.  I finished off with a mumble, “I’m drinkin’ this bad boy myself.  Fuck yeah.”

The elevator dumped me out on the agents-’n’-admin floor.  I blinked, stopped, and checked my watch.  Both of them just to be sure.  Holy hell.  It was almost eight p.m.  God damn it!  I was gonna have to spend one more night in the Boom Burrow.  My stomach rebelled at the prospect… and I wasn’t a squeamish guy, so that was saying a lot.

Spying a strip of light under the door to the director’s office, I literally heard angels descending from On High singing Hallelujah.  For real.

I rapped lightly on the frame, trying to contain the urge to just slide the report through that carpet crack and book it the hell outta here.

“Enter.”

I fumbled with the knob on a sigh.  God was I tired.  “Hey, director.  Got that report you’ve been waiting on.”

“Thank you, Mister Maxwell.”

Placing the file in her hand, I turned back to the still-open doorway.  “Happy reading, ma’am!  See you at the trial!”

“I doubt that.”

I paused.  Chuckled.  “Oh, yeah, well.  Figure of speech, y’know?”  God knew I wasn’t gonna be anywhere near a courtroom when this shit got settled.  I was done.  Trowa was waiting for me to use the burn phone I’d picked up on our way back from Howard’s cabin and call him.  Which I was doing as soon as I was sure no one was following me.

Not counting that little chore, I was totally and completely _done._

What an amazing feeling.

“Mister Maxwell.”

Smiling, I turned.  And froze at the sight of the gun aimed at my chest.  “Director?” I queried slowly.

“I suspected you knew.  I hadn’t thought you’d have the gumption to come right out and make the accusation, but here it is in black and white.”  She gestured to the report and the data I had faked, the data that she was fully aware that I had faked: “The hack leads back to the Center, this very floor, and this computer.”

“Uh…”  Yes, I had written that.  I’d spun a lead that would take the investigation deeper, justify a thorough internal investigation.  Over the past ten days, my hunch that someone on the inside had to have been involved had only gotten stronger.  Not that I could have proven it.  Not that I could have ever _legitimately_ proven it.  So I’d heaped the blame on the director’s office because that would mean more questions instead of a poor bastard being chucked into Quantanamo Bay.  But, here we were.  At gunpoint.

Well.  This sucked.

Was it too late for an undo?  “Should I have used Times, New Roman?” I asked.

She cocked the trigger.

Yup, that was what I was afraid of.  Fucked over by my own boss.  I really should have seen this coming.

I queried quietly, “Why’d you it?”  Since she wasn’t even bothering to browbeat or bribe me into altering my report, what did I have left to lose, eh?  Maybe if I could get her talking I’d somehow be less… dead when the bullets started flying.  Heh.  Right.

“It was what Mister Treize would have wanted.”

That was, um, interesting.  “Treize… Khushrenanda?”

“The one and only.”

This woman was crazy.  Genuinely crazy.  “How do you even know the head of the Khushrenada mafia, director?”

“Many people in my position do.  You’d be surprised.”

I invited with a charming smile, “Try me.”

“I don’t think so, Mister Maxwell.”

“It’s hell getting bloodstains out of carpet.”

She smiled.  “Not this carpet.”

It was dark brown.  Fuck.  I was fucked.  “Well.  Isn’t this a bummer?”

_Pop!_

I dropped to the floor.  Forced myself to breathe.  Waited to bleed.  Never been shot before, so it looked like tonight was chock full of new experiences.

A clatter.  A thump.  A delirious moan.

None of which had come from me.

I lifted my head just as a pair of boots passed within inches of my nose.  Sat up as Agent Heero Yuy handcuffed his incapacitated boss and pulled out a phone to key in a request for backup.

He looked my way.  “Took you long enough.”

“Hey.  I used the crisis word!”

Yuy glowered at me, but his lips twitched.  Twitched.  Huh.  I was pretty sure I hadn’t hallucinated that.  “It was not your job to get a confession.”

“Excuse me for being fucking curious.”

“It killed the cat.”

“If you honestly think I look like a cat, you really need to get your head outta your ass.”

He chuckled.

I’ll be damned.  He really could laugh and not burst into flame.  I felt… cheated somehow.

Hearing the sounds of footsteps racing up the service stairs, I pulled myself to my feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yuy demanded.

“Away.  For good.”

“Maxwell.  You need to stay.  Give a statement.  Testify.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Yuy.  You’ve got my computer and the report, and if you didn’t make a recording of that little scene, then you’ve seriously lost your touch.”

“We need you to stay.”

“Naw.  The investigation will be fine without me.”  Before Yuy could do more than open his mouth, I emphasized, “It will be _fine,_  and you know it, buddy.”

He glared.

I skedaddled on a salute before back-up arrived.  Got myself a steak before last order.  Potato, too.  Sour cream.  Aw, fuck yeah.  The phone stayed in my pocket though because… yup.  There was one more act in this soap opera and the guy stepping though the door was kicking it off.

He slid onto the bar stool next to me.  Bumped my shoulder with his.  I was 75% certain it was his attempt at some kind of buddy moment, but one could never be sure with Heero Yuy.  “I guess this means Solo’s got lead on the case.”

Yuy grunted an affirmative and ordered a club soda.  I sucked down another mouthful of beer.

“So, what the fuck actually happened back there?”

Yuy scowled.  “The director has been behaving erratically with increasing frequency.  She even asked about you twice in my presence.  We knew we had to launch and above-board op to find you before she decided to outsource the job to someone else.”

Someone like a hitman.

I didn’t mention Trowa.

Yuy did that for me.  “Why’d you go off the grid with him that afternoon?”

“Because I trust him.”  Which was more than I could say for my former employer.  “So, I guess we know now why Une wanted me under her roof again so badly.”

“We did, too.”  Yuy smirked.  “If anyone can drive a suspect past the point of insanity, it’s you.”

“Gee, thanks.  How long have you guys suspected Une of the bomb hack?”

“Four months.”

Huh.  How about that.  “What took you so long to drag my ass back, then?  So I could, y’know, crazy her into fessing up.”

“Solo said you needed time.”

“And you always listen to everything that moron sa—hold up.  Did you just call my brother — Agent Maxwell — by his _given name?”_

“That’s not a crime.”

“That’s practically an endearment coming from you.”

Heero Yuy blushed.  Holy fuck.  No way.  I gawped and sputtered, “Seriously?”

“Yes.  It’s serious.”

“Well.  That explains why he trusted you to watch my back.”  I drained the last inch of my beer.  “Treat him right.”

I stood up before he could make a promise that time and life might force him to break.  I did not do well with broken promises.  Not well at all.  So it was better for everyone concerned if he just kept his mouth shut and took my ultimatum like a man.  Like a stoic hardass of a man.

I stretched and wobbled a bit.  “Looks like I’m drunk, Yuy.  Wanna go for a drive?”

“Not really.”  In response to my incredulous look, he gestured to the fizzing glass that the bartender had placed in front of him.  “I just sat down.”

“Fine.  I’m gonna take a piss.  By the time I get back, your ass had better be ready to go.”

It was.

I tossed him my car keys.  He blinked at me with wide eyes.  “Are you trying to get your brother to kill me?”

I smirked.  “This would be a helluva way to manage it, wouldn’t it?”

Reaching for the passenger side door of my Baby, I pointed a finger at the guy who had suffered through the hell of Academy training with me, the guy I’d spent what felt like half of my life trying to teach how to be social, the guy who had just saved my life and the guy who was, apparently, banging my older brother.

I ordered, “I don’t give a shit what Solo promises you or how bad he begs, do not let him sit behind the wheel of my Baby.  Ever.  You got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.  Now gimme a ride to the train station.”

Yuy shook his head and slid into the driver’s seat.  Oddly enough, I wasn’t even envious.  Instead, I was thinking of all the times that Trowa had sat here, right here, in the passenger seat, his long legs in this very foot well.  I rubbed my palms up and down my thighs briskly, resisting the temptation to dig the phone out of my pocket and place that call.

Soon.  Very soon.

Yuy turned the ignition.  “Solo won’t let you get away with leaving like this.”

“Sure he will,” I argued back.  “Just tell him one thing for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Tell him he’s a jucking ferk.”

Yuy snorted.  “I’m glad I’m an only child.”

Oh, hell.  The world could barely cope with one Heero Yuy.  The thought of another running around was just—  “Don’t give me nightmares, man.”

“In this car, that really would be a crime.”

Amen, brother.  Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you’re interested, once the math is tallied up, Duo actually comes out older than Trowa in this fic. Trowa is 24 (Trowa ran away from home with Cathy when he was 12; Dorian took them in about a year later; shortly after that, Cathy became pregnant with James; and James celebrated his 10th birthday 6 months ago and Trowa mentions spending his most recent birthday with Duo) and Duo is 29 (Duo graduated university with a 4-year degree when he was 22; he got recruited for the Center and went through training and probationary employment for half a year; he worked with explosive devices for about six years before the Marvel Case fiasco; then, he holed up in Howard’s Hobby Shop for eight months before Solo showed up). 
> 
> I belatedly realized this age-inversion (seriously, the fic was all written before I clued in), but I think it works well in explaining why Trowa is so focused on and fascinated with Duo (who is probably his first love). While Duo has every intention of being with Trowa again and moving forward together, Duo is able to block out his emotions (with the exception of his Extreme Irritation) and get officework shit done. So, I dunno. Just my impression there.
> 
> P.S. The crisis word, which Duo sneakily set in Chapter 6, was "bummer."


	10. “The stars look especially lovely tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: language, reference to male/male sexytimes
> 
> Trowa POV

“The stars look especially lovely tonight.”

My lips turned upward in a smile that was as wistful as Cathy’s tone.  I shrugged.  “It’s dark enough out here to see them clearly.”

“That’s true,” she agreed.

When she turned her face up to the night sky and the slice of Milky Way that arched over the sheared cornfield, I slipped the disposable cell phone from between my palms and into my jacket pocket.  Today had marked twelve days since I’d last seen or spoken to Duo.

Where was he?  Was his brother looking out for him?  Was Duo all right?  What if he’d been injured?

What will I do if he never calls?

With that one question, I was a breath away from losing my mind.

I exhaled carefully.

Cathy shivered, distracting me.  It was cold and clear tonight.  I wished we had a telescope.  I’d wanted one as a kid.  I still did.

My sister rubbed her arms through the weave of the sweater she’d found at a thrift store.  We’d made a point of stopping at one before we’d left civilization behind.

I’d picked up a sweater for Duo, too.  I hadn’t said it was for him, but I was sure Cathy had figured it out anyway.  I would never get two sweaters for myself when there were so many other things we needed: groceries, toilet paper and ingredients for making soap and laundry detergent, books for James.

I still hadn’t asked what Cathy was going to do about his schooling.

For tonight, however, we could pretend that it wasn’t an issue.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She shrugged a shoulder.  Managed a lopsided smile.  “In what respect?”

I chose a topic that she needed to talk about but probably wouldn’t make her cry: “Fashion design.  It’s always been your dream.”

She rocked back and forth on her heels, gripping the warped railing for an anchor.  “Yeah, but even from the start, I expected to wake up sooner or later.”

I looked down at my splayed fingers and sighed out a little of my heartache.  “I’m sorry.”

“James is safe.  You’re safe… finally.  I’m not sorry for those things.”  She drummed her palms on the railing.  It vibrated beneath my forearms.  “When you let go of one dream, it makes way for you to create new ones.”

I would have to take her word for it.  I’d only ever had one dream for myself and I wasn’t giving him up.

Cathy’s hand curled around my arm and drew my gaze.  “You were right.  I knew Khushrenada Enterprises wasn’t, um… wasn’t what it appeared to be.  I knew.”

I nodded.

“But, Trowa, I’m so sorry you had to do what you did.  I should have been taking better care of you.”

“I’m a grown man, Cathy.”

She clucked her tongue at me.  “But you’ll always be my little brother.”

Well.  That was something I couldn’t argue with, even if I’d wanted to.

“James wants to watch a movie tonight.  We have popcorn,” Cathy said, finally telling me why she’d come outside to look for me.

“Sounds good.”  We’d have to squish onto the only sofa in the living room in order to share the same large mixing bowl.  I’d furnished and stocked only the essentials.  The popcorn we had pilfered from Winner’s.

The movie was on television.  An old stop-animation that I’d heard of but never seen.  It was about the strange denizens of Halloween Town.  There was singing, but not the vacuously happy kind.

During a scene in which a mad scientist’s lovely, patchwork-lady assistant drugged him so that she could escape the confines of his mansion, an odd trill vibrated in the background somewhere nearby.  Here.  In this room.

Not recognizing the noise, I tensed.  My wide-eyed gaze locked with Cathy’s over the half-full bowl of popcorn and we shared a moment of mindless horror.

“Isn’t that your phone, Uncle Trowa?” James asked around a mushy mouthful of movie snacks.

Oh, God.  It was.  It absolutely, finally was.

I threw myself over the back of the sofa and dived for my jacket hanging on the wall hook.  Tore into the pocket.  Clutched the buzzing device in a death grip.  I slammed out onto the back porch, scrabbling and jabbing the “Connect” button once, maybe twice because what if I’d only imagined hitting it the first time?

“Hello.”  My voice was flat, windless, terrified.

“Hey, babe.  Miss me?”

My palm smacked onto the bowed railing.  I locked my elbow as my knees sagged.  Somehow, I didn’t fold into a pile on the dusty boards.  “Yes.  A thousand times, yes.”

“Only a thousand?”

I bit my lip, but felt the smile overtake me anyway.  “Don’t push your luck.”

“I figure you’re right.  I’ve pushed it about as far as I dare.”  He sounded tired.

“Are you OK?”  If he wasn’t, there wasn’t much I could do for him from here.  I hated that fact as much as I needed to hear him answer the question.

“All systems nominal.  Yeah, babe, I’m good.  You and yours?”

“Fine.”

“You sure are.”

I smiled.  I wanted him to tell me everything, every last detail, but it would have to wait.  For now, there was only one more question I needed to ask: “Is it done?”

“It’s done.  I’m done.  Ready whenever you are.  Wherever you are.”

Living on the streets, singing for my supper beside Cathy, I’d thought I’d understood what it meant to be humbled.  Watching my sister being swept off her feet by a preppy university student who had been passing by and stopped and stared and smiled kindly, I’d thought I’d known hope.  I hadn’t.  Not really.  Duo humbled me with those few sentences.  He filled my being with hope until I had to be shining with it.

“Duo, are you sure?  Your brother… your friends?”  I told myself to shut up, shut up, shut up!

There was a pause.  “Well, if you don’t want me, I can probably hunt my buddy down, knock him out, and steal my car keys back.”

I laughed.  I groaned.  “I want you.”

“Then tell me where to meet you.”

I told him.

He gave me a time frame.

Two days later, I was waiting in the SUV outside the small, public library.  It was a single-story, tan-brick, low-budget, library-looking… library.  Cathy and James were inside signing up for a membership.  I couldn’t have focused on an application form and book titles if my life had depended on it.

My gaze roved the turn-of-the-century buildings at the crossroads of the rural town’s two main streets.  There were more pickup trucks than minivans.  More station wagons than two-door sedans.  I could see the steeple of a church.

I smiled when I recalled that I had asked Duo to marry me… and he hadn’t said “no.”

A tap on my window had me jerking around.  I was wary of being questioned by a local sheriff, but unless he had dark blue-purple eyes, a wide smile, and shaggy brown bangs, I didn’t have anything to worry about.  My clawed fingers searched over the side of the door.  Duo found the outside handle before I managed to lever my side open.  He pulled and I pushed and he didn’t even wait for my feet to hit the pavement before his arms were around me.  I tugged him close, bracketing him between my bent knees, and tried to stuff the tears back inside my skull through sheer force of will.

Having bangs as long as mine was extremely useful at times.

“You can go back anytime you need to,” I made myself promise.  “This doesn’t have to be forever.”

“It had damn well better be forever, babe, or I’m gonna steal your Cool Uncle status.”

“No, please.  Anything but that.”

“Well, OK.  But only cuz it’s you asking.”

At the sound of a diesel engine chugging up the street, Duo pulled back.  I was careful to keep my hands in PG-rated zones.  I would have given anything to kiss him.  Except for our hard-won anonymity.  I was not about to give that up.

Duo got into the back seat and I turned to hold his hand.  Our fingers locked and laced over and over as he told me what had happened at his former workplace.  He related the events in the director’s office and didn’t even wince when my grip locked down around his hand.  My thanks were as silent as my relief: Duo was safe now.  That was all that mattered.

I couldn’t and didn’t blame him for walking away from that level of corruption.  Nor could I imagine that he’d ever feel confident or safe enough to go back to government-sanctioned work.

“Gotta get a new ID,” Duo informed me at the conclusion of all of that.

I smiled.  “I might know a guy.”

“Yeah?  What are you going by these days, babe?”

“Triton Bloom.”

“That’s… um.”

“Not my choice.”

“Clearly.  But, hell, I’ll get used to it.”  His tone was deep and soft, so I knew he didn’t mind.

We sat in silence for five more blissfully solitary minutes before the library doors opened and James emerged hauling a straining plastic bag.  He was scowling, probably thinking of all the books Cathy had picked out for him to read in lieu of actual schoolwork.  Duo slouched back behind my seat and we waited for James to reach us.  Cathy was three steps behind him, sliding the new library card into her wallet with her recently forged ID.  She’d just dropped her wallet into her purse when my nephew yanked open the car door and looked up.  Stopped.  Gawped.

Duo waggled his fingers in a little wave of greeting.  “Hey, dude.  How’s it going?”

“Duo!”

The SUV rocked on its shocks and struts; the books tumbled to the floor and James mashed himself into Duo’s arms.  Cathy closed the rear door on their laughter and claimed shotgun.

The house only had two bedrooms.  James wanted to play rock-paper-scissors for who got to room with Duo.  Snickering, Duo said, “I fart in my sleep.  Squeaky, smelly ones.  You sure you wanna bunk with me?”

“Oh, well.  Um.”

Cathy passed a small shopping bag to her son.  “Here are the batteries for your controller.”

“Yes!  Let’s fly some before dinner,” James invited his instructor.

“Yeah.  Rock out, man.  Where’s your plane at?”

James dashed up the stairs.  Cathy headed for the kitchen with a grocery bag in her arms.  I angled mine away from my chest as Duo leaned in and stole a brief, sweet kiss.

“It’s good to be back,” he breathed and, even though we were in an unfamiliar house in the middle of nowhere, I knew exactly what he meant.  Me, Duo, James, and Cathy.  An RC airplane.  A wide open sky.  A future to look forward to.

Yes.  This was home.  It didn’t really matter where we were so long as the place itself was safe and good.

The arrest of Treize Khushrenada and his daughter Mariemaia made the national news.  The trial dragged on for six months, but Dorian’s testimony was only one of dozens.  I was relieved to hear that Zayeed Winner had taken the stand to describe the corrupt business practices of his former partner, Khushrenada Enterprises.

Two weeks after the Kushrenadas’ prison sentences began, I pressed a brand new prepaid cell phone into Cathy’s hand and told her to call Dorian.  “He has your phone.  Try that number.”

He answered on the second ring.  They spoke for four hours.  Duo and I took James on a hike in the woods.  It wasn’t hunting season, but we wore our brightest clothes.  I carried my handgun just in case we ran into whatever had been tearing into the garbage cans outside at night.  Duo held onto our camouflage jackets in the event that we ran into trouble of another kind and hiding became a necessity, but I needn’t have worried.

Just before the start of the new school year, Duo and I drove my sister and nephew to their new city and their new life.  Agent Chang had done a good job with assigning Dorian a new identity and thinking ahead to when my sister and nephew would be joining him.  Their house was in a quiet suburb.  A nosy neighbor waved from over the top of the privacy fence and invited all of us to his place for a cookout.

As Cathy, James, and Duo went on ahead, I smirked at Dorian.  “Looks like you’ll have to try for a pound of flesh later.”

“Worried?” he needled.

“Why would I be?  I brought a friend to hold my beer.”

“You’re an asshole.”

So was Dorian.  I didn’t bother to debate the issue.

He said, “But you kept your word.”

I stared at him.  Hard.

Dorian scowled.  “I will keep mine.  I promised your sister for better or worse, for rich or poor, in sickness and in health.  I meant it.”

“Good.”

Duo and I went back to the little house in Amish country to close it up.  It would be a nice place to come back to for some quiet time, but there wasn’t much in the way of job opportunities in the area.  Unless we wanted to, uh, grow our own.  So to speak.  Which we definitely did not.

“Any idea what you want to do after we get set up in our new place?” I asked him, thankful that we’d agreed on a location within an hour’s drive of James and Cathy.

Duo and I had several new identities apiece.  We were off the grid.  We had the world at our figurative fingertips.

“I dunno, babe.  What are our options?”

I reached out and captured his hands.  We’d packed up and put up just about everything with the exception of the fitted sheet on the double bed that we’d shared for nearly nine months.  I sat down on the mattress and tugged on our interlaced fingers until he was crouching over me on his knees.

“You and I,” I began, “have many, many options.”

“Like what?”  He nuzzled my ear.

“You name it; it’s doable,” I gasped, my hands searching under the hem of his jean shirt.

“Is that so?”

“Name one thing we can’t do.”

“Get pregnant.”

He squealed a very loud obscenity when I tossed him on the bed.  “Smart ass,” I murmured between nibbles.

“Yup.  I do have an ass.  It even looks smart in black trousers.  My fiancé told me so.”

His fiancé.  Yes, I was that — and very happily that — and as much of a thrill as it gave me to hear it, I desperately wanted to be more, but it wouldn’t be safe for us to get married using our real names.  The FBI had rounded up Khushrenada’s disgruntled lackeys and former associates, most of them.  Perhaps all of them… but I was not about to bet our lives on it.  The obvious solution was to marry Duo under one of our new names, but that just wouldn’t feel real.

I brushed my fingers over his cheek.  “Your fiancé is going to need a little more time to figure out how to marry you the way you both deserve.”

He pushed my bangs aside.  His smile was slow and sweet.  “There’s no rush.”

He was certainly right about that.  “Meanwhile…” I drawled, plucking the buttons free of the buttonholes on his jean shirt one by one.

“Meanwhile, you’re gonna play with my buttons, babe?”

I growled.  He pulled my long-sleeved T-shirt over my head.

“Would this be why you slid the lube into my pocket this morning?” he inquired, eyebrows lifted innocently and hands roving with lusty abandon.

“You know why,” I retorted, bit his lip, and concluded, “and it has nothing to do with getting pregnant.”

“Thank God, cuz, like, I’m totally not ready for that kind of commitment.”

I laughed.  I grinned.  I kissed him, leaning away when his hands went to work on my jeans.  “However,” I warned, “it does have something to do with what we could be doing together every chance we get for the next fifty years, minimum.”

His grin was wicked and charming and perfect.  “Oh?  What’s that?”

“Why don’t I show you?”

“Hmm.  Why don’t you.”

I did.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo finally gets away from his old life and calls Trowa on or before Halloween. The movie on TV is “The Nightmare Before Christmas” (which creeps me out so much and no I don’t wanna examine why that is). BUT! If you haven’t heard Amy Lee’s version of “Sally’s Song” you must LISTEN TO IT.
> 
> I had a bunch of notes written out for how Trowa’s family adjusts to their new lives, but I think I’ll hang onto them for now because sequel ideas have been tickling me. So, yes, in the future, I might (possibly) write a follow-up fic to this story. Maybe. I dunno. I literally have no control over my muse.
> 
> BUT! If you are itching to write your own hitman!Trowa GW fic or bomb-expert!Duo GW fic or anything GW at all YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY GO FOR IT. There is always always always room for another rose in the garden. (^_^)
> 
> EDIT July 1, 2017: The very talented Kangofu_CB has written a DELIGHTFUL HeeroxSolo companion fic to this 'verse called "Free Ride" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/11353680). To view all the stories currently in this collection, just click on the link for the AO3 Collection: Gone Rogue. Check the fic out and E N J O Y!!!


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